The Wretched
by NCDavis
Summary: Bulla's lived a charmed life. Until now. Her Saiyan heritage is bringing new changes more intense, and more dangerous, than any of her family could imagine and Vegeta must figure out a way to save his child ... from both an old enemy and herself.
1. Chapter 1

The Wretched Part I - Chapter 1 - NCDavis

Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.

_The story takes place after the end of DBZ. Bulla is 17._

* * *

Bulla twirled around in front of her assembled family, showing off her jacket to perfection. "And last, but definitely not least, I found this adorable Fradi denim crop. It'll go _so_ well with my Prenda skirt, and Mom, you know how hard it is to match pinks." 

Mom shook her head. "Indeed I do, dear. I'm glad you found such lovely things, but I'm afraid I can't dawdle any longer. I really need to work on those propulsion diagrams." Her mom got up and kissed her on the cheek as she headed out the door.

"Yeah, propulsion," Trunks chimed in. "Speaking of, hey, Dad, weren't you going to show me a new move in the gravity room before Bulla trapped us for her fashion show?"

"Listen, Trunks," Bulla replied, "you need all the fashion help you can get."

"And seeing your pink Frada will help me out how exactly?" He rose from the arm of the sofa and tweaked her nose. "See ya in the grav room, Dad."

The last one in the room, her father straightened up off his favorite spot on the wall and headed towards her on his way out as well. He stopped and gazed at her a moment. "Nice jacket."

A man of few words, her father. "Thanks, Dad."

She could tell by the microscopic tilt of the corner of his mouth that it'd pleased him to have said the right thing, and satisfied with that, he left her alone to follow her brother.

Bulla started to gather up the strewn about clothes. She had done well. She'd fulfilled her role. Mom was the brains; Dad and Trunks the brawn. A perfect yin n' yang of human know-how and Saiyan pow-pow. And she, she was the oompf, the wow, the... Bulla sank down on the sofa. The darkness that had been with her of late taunted her. Who was she kidding. Being the fourth wheel was fine, unless you had a tricycle. She was the odd one out. She clinched the clothing in her fists, bitterness consuming her. She was what was left.

---------------

Bulla gazed around the table as her family chatted away at supper later that night. Well, Dad didn't do chatter, saving words for when it really mattered. He sat at the head of the table, dark, spiky head bowed over his rack of pork, content as always to let others do the talking. Mom was too excited to eat much. Her hands were moving a mile a minute as she described some new idea to Trunks, her short aqua hair bobbing in emphasis. Trunks' own lavender hair, cut so similar, bobbed in equal excitement over the prospects. The owner, former CEO and head scientist of Capsule Corp., preeminent tech goods company in the world having a dinner meeting with the current CEO, a.k.a Big Brother, who at that moment turned to ask Dad -- a.k.a the prince of the lost Saiyan race and one of the greatest warriors in the world -- if it'd be alright to skip his training session to look at Scientist Mom's proposal. The prince did not look pleased until CEO Bro/Proud Half-Saiyan Warrior promised to do two sessions the next day.

And her normal contribution to table talk? What she'd done in school that day and the latest from the Orange Star High junior class grapevine. That's it. She was no dummy, but she was no genius either. Her throat tightened. Her Saiyan blood counted for something, she was tougher than the average girl, but she hadn't been trained since childhood to fight like Trunks had. God, Goten's little niece Pan could probably kick her butt.

"Something wrong, Princess?"

The sound of her father's voice broke her reverie. That her father had asked in front of everyone stopped the conversation cold, leaving all eyes fixed on her. How silly, nothing was the matter. And she'd tell them so, play her role-- "Why."

"You've usually filled us in on the latest gadget you have to have by now." He glanced at Mom. "Not that your mother's given you a word in edgewise."

"Oh you." Bulla barely registered her mother's playful swat. What was she doing? Get yourself together, girl. Here's the perfect opening ... play your role. Just say ... just say ...

"Why." Why did it matter now? But it did.

"Okay, Sis. I'll bite. Why what?"

She saw their amused faces. They thought this was a joke. That she was a joke. _Aren't you?_ "Why wasn't I trained to help run the company--"

"You? Run Capsule Corp?" Trunks roared back laughing. "The way you spend money, we'd be bankrupt in a year."

"Trunks!" Her mother turned to her. "To be honest, Bulla, I didn't think you were interested. When I used to try to explain formulas to you, you'd try to fold the papers into dresses for your dolls."

Her mother reached out to touch her hair; she pulled away. Her mother was stung by her reaction, but she didn't care. "There's more to the company than science: finances, human resources, marketing, public relations."

"Well ... yes, you're right. If you really are interested in one of those--"

"Why wasn't I trained to fight."

"Your mother was still speaking, Bulla."

Whatever trace of humor was gone from her father's face, from all their faces. Good. Father's was the most intense. Could he sense it, the darkness that had broken through the shiny, happy facade? She wanted to put it back ... no, no she didn't. "I was still speaking when Trunks interrupted; I was merely finishing my thought." She heard Trunks mumble, "You're in for it now," but kept her eyes on the prince. "Why wasn't I trained to fight, Father."

"We're going to be formal now, are we, Daughter?"

"Vegeta, Bulla, stop this." She could taste her mother's agitation on the air. "When did we cross into the Twilight Zone? You two don't fight."

"Maybe we should." She couldn't stop herself. His scent, his authority rode the air. How she longed to challenge it and oh how he knew it.

"What has gotten into you?" Her mother was on her feet now. "It's all been my fault, okay? I didn't train you for Capsule Corp., and I didn't want your father to train you as a warrior. He had Trunks. I wanted a child for myself."

"But you have Trunks as well." She rose, stalking her father's end of the table. Her mother dared grab her arm. She stared deep into those frightened blue eyes. "Let go of me, Human." The woman wisely did as she'd been told, mouth agape in her stunned face. She turned her back to the creature to face the surging power that was her father.

He growled out his answer. "You want to know why I never trained you?" The sneer should have warned her, would have warned her she'd pushed him too far. But the thing strumming through her veins fed on his Saiyan anger, even as what she knew as herself fought to regain control. "It's simple, Daughter. You're not Saiyan enough."

A burst of shock stunned the darkness. She could push it back now, back through the crevice it'd found in the facade, into the walls she'd learned only recently were there. Her heartbeat, her senses dulled, became her own again. She could, she could ... she looked back at her mom's wounded heart, swiveled 'round to Trunks shocked face and back to her dad's pulsing anger. What was she doing? And not Saiyan? "Dad, I don't--"

"Oh no, my daughter. You wished to know. I'm happy to oblige. All Saiyans are born with tails. Except a few weaker members of our race. The weakest of them in fact. Genetic faults. Mistakes. Not worthy to bear the Saiyan name. You were one. Had you been born on Planet Vegeta, we would have shipped you to some barren rock to live out your brief, pathetic days, but more importantly, to prevent your defect from further contaminating the gene pool. As it was, your human mother would never have allowed such a thing, and I humored her and let you live. I even grew quite fond of you myself, told myself there was no shame in having a child born of my royal line be blemished. Yet there you stand, dishonoring your mother, proving the flaws of your birth. Train you? It would have been a waste of my talent and time."

Question after question died on her lips. Time slithered around her, the silence slamming each word into her brain. Flaw. Shame. Waste. She'd been right all along. After all the talent, all the best of this genius and this warrior had been given through the times they'd saved the Earth and through the golden example of their son, she was the remnant.

Dad's own anger was spent, draining from him without her own there to feed it. She saw it go, saw him realize hers didn't answer, his own awareness of what had just been said dawn in horror in his eyes. She looked away. She couldn't bear his pain and hers too. Turning towards the stairs, she paused by her mother. "I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered. "I just wasn't myself."


	2. Chapter 2

The Wretched Part I - Chapter 2 - NCDavis

* * *

"What just happened here?"

Bulma's question echoed his own, but Vegeta wasn't sure he had an answer for her. Yet. He'd barely had time to register Bulla's odd behavior before the fury had welled up inside him, answering her Challenge. It had certainly felt like a Challenge. But how could his most human child manage to create, let alone stir in him, that most Saiyan rite of passage... "Trunks, see to your mother." He went to follow Bulla.

"Dad--"

"Don't have me ask you twice, Son, not tonight." How to approach this pounded in his head as went up the stairs and down to the end of the hall. Her closed door greeted him with no answers. He hesitated as he raised his hand to knock, reaching out with his mind to sense her. As usual, her lower life force was stronger than a pure human's, but a mute blip on the radar compared to the likes of himself or Kakarrot. Unremarkable. Nothing like the spike during the Challenge. Perhaps he _was_ wrong. Perhaps it was merely human teenage rebellion.

The door opened suddenly, startling him. Her big eyes stared up at him, a bit in fear, a bit in despair, slicing through his heart. He didn't call her Princess as a mere nickname, or even to remind them both of her real place in the universe. She ruled his heart in ways even her mother did not. "Daddy?" She launched herself into him, calling his name over and over in great big sobs. Should he hug her? Tell her things would be all right? He didn't know if that were even true, but humans seemed to prefer lies when they were upset. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, willing them to cease their shaking. She was so afraid, so very afraid.

"I don't know what happened, Daddy. I don't know what's wrong with me. I get so mad." She raised her tear-streaked face to his and whispered, "I wanted to fight you."

"I know. I believe this is why human parents fear a child's adolescence, hm?" He wiped the tears from her face. "Too much shopping; you've worn yourself out." He could tell she didn't believe that any more than he did, but it won him a brief watery smile. "Get some rest."

She retreated to her room. So many questions, but it was clear she wasn't up to an interrogation tonight. Neither was he, for that matter, for he was sure she had a barrage of questions of her own.

-------------------

_Late into the night when all the house lay still, behind her closed door in her darkened room, Bulla at long last fell off to sleep. In her dreams flashed images dark and restless, objects tossed, objects smashed. In her room swirled energies that mirrored her dreams. Her lamp flew up from her nightstand past toppled books and shattered to the floor..._

Bulla woke with a start, debris strewn everywhere. It hadn't all been a dream. She strained her ears for any give away of someone else being in her room, but deep down instinct told her no one else was there. _She_ had done this and she had no idea how. She grabbed her slippers and scrambled out of bed, careful to watch out for shards, a kind of guilt pounding through her she hadn't felt since she was five years old and had wet the bed. But if the bad thing didn't get found out, then it would all go away. Peering out into the hall, she saw her parents' door closed. Trunks had moved into another wing of the complex; she didn't have to worry about him. Mom was like the dead when she slept, but she couldn't believe her father slept through anything. Of course. He was probably in the gravity training room. It was more than a work out room. It was his place to think.

Wasting no more time, she began straightening her room, gathering up the trash and setting right what could be salvaged. She kept constant look out while she dragged the trash bag to the dumpster, holding her proverbial breath till she was safely back in her room. Her laugh was bitter. Safe? How could she be safe when she was becoming her own worst enemy.

For the second time that night, Vegeta stood in front of his daughter's closed bedroom door. He wanted to demand what she'd so frantically heaped into the dumpster, and yet, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Her odd fits and starts were growing more frequent. His instincts told him he needed answers from Saiyan doctors, people who no longer existed. Which left him stranded, despite hours in the training room trying to come up with solutions on his own. He had to retreat for now.

He found his mate awake in their room, pacing the floor. "Sleep eludes you too?"

"Vegeta, we need to talk."

"The last time you said that to me, you wanted to know about Saiyan sex."

Her response was a nervous laugh. "If it were only that simple. Bulla trashed her room."

"What?"

"I couldn't really get to sleep, not after dinner. I started hearing sounds like the wind, but then I realized the sound was inside. Coming from her room. I opened the door ... Vegeta, things were flying around everywhere, ions crackling blue in the dark; her lamp crashed and broke on the floor. And she was asleep, _asleep_ in her bed like the eye of a storm. But it was her, Vegeta." Bulma was shaking now. "The power was coming from her."

"Impossible. There had to be something in there with her. You should have gotten me. I would--"

"How many times have I watched you guys fight? I know a power-up when I see it, and I don't need a scouter."

"Nor do I. Or have you forgotten that I would have sensed a surge in power."

She stood her ground. "As should have Trunks. But some kind of power coursed through our dining room, you can't deny it. I can't say how I know; Call it mother's intution. That same kind of power, perceivable or not, just wreaked havoc in Bulla's room."

He still couldn't fathom a power he couldn't read, not when it was emanating from a biological being, but he couldn't dispute Bulma's argument. At least he had the small answer to why Bulla had been at the dumpster. But still. "What I said earlier is true. Her power level isn't much higher than yours. As it should be for someone like her."

"Born without a tail you mean?" She turned to the window, staring out into the night. "Why are naturally tailless Saiyans considered weak?"

"You should know the answer to that."

"No, I know why Saiyans who've lost their tails can't transform. I've also seen these same Saiyans become Super Saiyans. Incredible strength in the face of what should be a weakening blow." She faced him again. "So I repeat, what makes a Saiyan born without a tail _weak_?"

That stopped Vegeta cold. If he were to be that specific, then all he could say was, "I don't know. That they are weak is what we were taught. That was the reason given for sending them away."

"Could there have been any other reason?"

"In other words, could there have been a reason for my father and our leaders to lie?"

She shrugged. "Your words. However, it wouldn't be the first time a people were told one thing to hide something else."

True. He racked his brain, but could think of nothing--

"What, Vegeta. I can see it on your face."

_The Wretched._ "It's a myth, nothing more."

She cocked her brow. "Like a Super Saiyan?"

She had a point, and yet...

She moved closer. "This is our daughter. We can't afford to ignore any possibility."

"Very well. I heard this from my nursemaid, one of the oldest women at court. I was barely removed from infancy, but I suppose the tale remained with me because it was the first time I had seen them, Saiyans without tails. It would be like your seeing a baby without a limb. She asked me why I thought we sent them away, and I told her what my father had taught me. They were defects, useless to us. She replied that, useless as warriors, these children used to be kept on the planet as servants. Until some of them began to display strange power. Not many, just a handful out of dozens, but the king of that time believed it too dangerous to our society to keep them in the fold and started to send all tailless infants off-planet to die of exposure or be raised among others with similar abilities but who were no threat to us.

"I asked my father which was true. He punished me for questioning his word. I never saw my nursemaid again."

Bulma remained silent for several moments, then asked, "What kind of power?"

"She didn't say."

"Did they have these powers at birth?"

"No, not until puberty which, to remind you, Bulla reached years ago."

"She wouldn't be the first late bloomer. Besides which, the teenager's body is constantly undergoing changes. It doesn't just start and stop overnight."

It was unlikely, yet his instincts said Bulma could be on to something. If so... _Then it _was_ a Challenge._ Vegeta's heart began to pound, his mind whirling._ And she could be..._ "I'm going back to the training room."

_

* * *

The characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only._


	3. Chapter 3

The Wretched Part I - Chapter 3 - NCDavis

* * *

Grunts intermingled with flashes of light greeted Bulla as she landed near a clearing in Longback Woods. At that moment, she was pleased to remember Dad hadn't thought her completely hopeless. He'd taught her to fly. Okay, she'd pestered him to do it since Trunks would tease her only to hover out of reach, but today it bolstered her. Tailless or not, she was still a Saiyan.

She crept closer, softly crouching behind a thick oak tree to watch. She'd overheard Trunks telling Mom that he and Dad would be field-tripping here today, their shortcut way of saying training would take place in the great outdoors. Longback was far enough away from the city that two mighty beings could let loose some serious wattage without drawing attention, and they were taking full advantage of it. The ground was pockmarked from energy blasts; a few trees on the far side lay splintered in twos and threes. Her father charged towards Trunks, who disappeared and reappeared behind Dad with a wicked elbow to the neck. Catching himself on his hands, Dad rolled through the blow to his feet, pitching a fistful of grass and soil into Trunks' face. With his arms crossed to protect his body, Trunks couldn't keep the debris from hitting his eyes. Or Dad's fist from following right behind the dirt. Trunks hit the ground on his back and stayed there courtesy of Dad's foot pinned to his chest. Game over.

Her father yelled over his shoulder, "I hope you brought a med kit with you." Humor laced his voice. "Your brother's going to need it."

Figured he'd known she was there. She made her way to the two of them. "Sorry, no med kit."

Trunks was still wiping and blinking dirt from his eyes and blood from his nose. "All's fair, shmall's fair, that was low even for war."

Dad replied, "You were prepared for a blast. Good. You weren't prepared for something as simple as dirt in the eyes. Not good. Anticipation requires awareness of all your enemy's movements. Never--"

"Ignore what seems insignificant. The little things turn the tide in big wars." Trunk sat up as Dad moved his foot. "And always be aware of your environment. Not simply terrain, but its composition as well. It may be of use to you in your battle."

"Hmph. If you're listening so well, you should put it into practice."

"I try. It's just, sometimes, I wonder if practice can really make it all click. Maybe it does take real danger to make it gel."

"Perhaps, but I trust you won't need to put your theory to the test."

Trunks got to his feet. "Hiya Squirt. I don't need a med kit, just one of these." Bulla squealed as he rummaged through her jacket pockets till he pulled out what he wanted. "What is it with girls always having tissues."

"Good for you we do."

He tipped his head back, pressing it to his nose. "So, what brings you out here?"

"I just wanted to watch."

He looked straight at her then, like he didn't believe her. "That's a first, outside of a tournament anyway. Sure you're okay?" She shrugged. He placed a hand on her head, slightly ruffling her hair. The concerned comfort in his gaze reminded her, even though he could be a pain, he was still her brother in every good way that it meant. And like a good brother, he broke contact before she got blubbery thinking about it.

A tinny electric beep chirped nearby from Trunks' discarded jacket. "Great. From the battlefield to the boardroom." He shut off the alarm. " Or maybe they're one and the same."

Bulla smiled. "You can take 'em."

"Thanks, Squirt." He bowed towards Dad. "Permission to leave the field, Father." At first Bulla thought it was sarcastic Trunks as usual, but his carriage was military perfect, his request sincere. It was a side of him she'd never seen before. Dad nodded his consent, and her big brother lifted off into the late-afternoon sky.

"Why did you come."

She hadn't felt her father come up that close behind her. "Gee, Dad, enough with the super sneaky warrior stuff." He didn't return her comic salvo, just stared at her, waiting. Bulla had learned something over the past few weeks. A lot of her sass was bravado, a barrier to keep daunting thoughts at bay. But she couldn't run from them anymore, or from what 'd been going down at home. "Tell me what's happening to me."

That made him look away. "I don't know."

"But you have a good guess?"

He said nothing, staring off for a long while until he sighed and sat down on the grass, motioning for her to follow suit. "When a Saiyan reaches puberty, the change triggers in him what we called the Challenge. It basically revs his warrior's drive into an acute place, leading him ultimately to face his father in battle."

"It's not training? They fight each other for real?"

He nodded. "The battle itself completes the rite. It's the one time in a Saiyan's life he's expected to lose. He would have, after all, fought a far more seasoned Saiyan. He learns from the experience yet proves his worth as a man. The rare times a boy wins, it's noted as possible evidence a family's line may be evolving into a higher class."

She quickly made mental notes. Her father rarely flat out told you something; you had to piece together the information from what he did say. "So that's what happened at dinner? I challenged you? Can girls do that?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I thought you said--"

"None of the other half-Saiyan children have issued a Challenge, let alone would I have thought a half-Saiyan born without a tail would be able to, but I'm learning more and more there may be much I do not know about one such as you. Yes, I believe you Challenged me, and triggered my warrior's response. And yes, females also Challenge a parent. Usually the mother answers, but since your mother is human, I don't believe she's programmed to react physically as I do."

She swore he hesitated before he said "Challenged," but she had bigger things to worry about. "So," she fought to tremble under control, "I'm supposed to fight you?"

"Mm-hm."

"But you'd cream me. I get the losing bit, but I can't fight."

She barely saw him move before she felt her arm locked behind her, his other arm jammed beneath her chin, the pressure forcing her to her feet. "Dad!"

"I'm not your father; I am your opponent."

"But--" _I am your opponent._ It's what he used to say in their lessons. He hadn't taught her how to attack, but he had shown her how to defend. She back-kicked him in the knee, grabbed the arm under her chin as his grip loosened and hip-tossed him to the ground, barring his arm with her foot planted in his armpit.

He chuckled. Only her dad could get tossed to the ground and find it funny. "Good. You do remember." He curved out of the arm bar, sweeping her legs from behind. She hit hard on her butt. "Ow. Da-ad."

"'Dad' nothing. You wanted me to train you to fight."

"I think it was the hormones talking."

"Do you wish to tame the anger inside you, or for it to tame you."

And there it was, her choice, plain and simple. As if it were really a choice at all. "If you think going through with the ritual is the way to go, then, I guess we train."

----------

The day rushed by with those words, through homework and dinner, where Mom looked like she had a million reasons why this was a crazy idea but kept each one to herself. Bulla now stood in front of her father in his training room, clad in shorts and a tee, her trainers laced up tight, fists at the ready and absolutely clueless.

Her dad cocked his head. "Put those away. You're not ready for hand-to-hand combat."

"But I thought we were going to train?"

"And we are. But the true strength of a warrior isn't in his--" She coughed. "Her body. It's in the mind. Skill. Focus. Control. You need to learn those first before you start throwing punches. Relax. For now."

"O-kay."

"Prepare to fly." She levitated off the ground, but he shook his head. "No, don't take off. _Prepare._ What do you do first?"

She landed thinking of an answer. "I think it?"

"We don't have time for games," he barked. "What do you do first?"

"I focus my energy to my feet," she squeaked. "I focus on pushing off."

"Do it now. Focus the energy, but don't push away with it, just hold it there."

He was so in full warrior mode. She took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tingling along the soles of her feet--

"Wrong. Again."

Huh? Sure enough, she'd floated a few inches off the floor and didn't realize it. Setting down, she tried again. And again. And again, quickly realizing she'd only been taught part of the mechanics. Gathering the energy was easy. Controlling it enough to make simple moves about was easy. Holding it still was something else. "Maybe a break?"

"Not until you can hold it for a ten-count. Again."

So the evening wore on. She made it to six then shot off so hard barely stopped herself before she slammed into the far wall. Her whole body ached, her head fluxed between pounding and spiking pain. "I can't take anymore, please? I swear I'll pick up tomorrow." She started to walk away when a force shoved and pinned her down.

"We're in the field of training. Never walk away from me unless you are dismissed."

Panic and fatigue mingled in her, a force struggling against the bonds. "Let me up."

"Do you understand?"

She pushed harder, the pressure building. "Let me up."

"Do. You. Understand."

"Let me UP!" It blew like a gasket, a wave shattering his hold and flinging him across the room. The wave rolled on, leaving her an open wound, light-blind, mere breath crashing inside her skull, sensing nothing and everything ... a bird outside fluttering frantic with a broken wing ... lust, her brother, his date ... worry, her mother, a mother farther away ... laughter, tears, myriad of pain and joy in corners of the town, no farther, too far, she couldn't go too far ... fear. Her father. She latched onto him, grounded herself with him. Father, his father, the image flashed before her. A spitting image of her own, but bearded. Sparring, so long ago, so young.

_You're in my mind._

And her father in hers. His thought ringing clear and strong.

_Focus, Princess. Calm down._

Calm. She gathered herself in, pulled back into the shell. Tears spilled down her face. It hurt to be so small again.

"Bulla, answer me! Bulla!" She came to with his shaking her. She wasn't unconscious, yet she was. She had been. "Daddy?" She looked into his relieved eyes a second before being crushed to him in his hug, his laboring breath an odd lullaby to her remnant fears. Trapped once more in flesh and blood, her mind could barely process what had just happened, so pushed much of it just out of reach of understanding. And she was so tired. She felt her body lifted in her father's arms, carried into her room and being laid down upon her bed. But one thought she'd brushed by stayed with her and she needed to know, so she forced her woozy mind to work a bit longer and opened her sleepy eyes. "Y'father."

"My father."

"Is that reason you not king? You s'pposed to beat 'im?"

His grip tightened on the quilt he tucked around her. "You have your mother's uncanny perception. There's a different ritual of challenge from eldest son to the reigning monarch for that role, but no, I never defeated my father in either Challenge because he was killed before I came of age. I never had the honor of facing him in my rite of passage. I have no right to his title."

"Thas so sad, Daddy. You be good king."

She thought she heard his breath catch. "Sleep, my daughter. We'll speak in the morning."

"I scared, Dad-dy."

As sleep finally claimed her, she barely heard him whisper, "So am I."

* * *

_The characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only._

Author's Note: Thanks for all your reviews and encouragement so far! TW is challenging because focusing on a character like Bulla is almost like creating a character from scratch. She has one line in the last episode of DBZ, and though there is more in DBGT, I have issues with the direction some characters took in the sequel, which is why this story isn't set in its framework. Anyway, it makes your enjoyment of the story even more rewarding for me.


	4. Chapter 4

The Wretched - Chapter 4 - NCDavis

* * *

A cacophony of conversation, laughter and shrieks drifted up to Vegeta's perch in a tree overlooking the latest get-together. The women insisted on these festivities periodically, something about friendship and connections, the children playing together. They were right in some sense. His and Kakarrot's families were the only ones of Saiyan blood on this planet; they should maintain ties of kinship. But why did it have to be so ... frivolous. A good tournament, warrior pitted against warrior in an all-out battle of savvy and skill, a hunt afterwards and heady grog drunk over the roasting kill. Now there was a way to celebrate. But no, they did it the human way with watered-down pap they called beer, shredded cabbage and stupid games that served no useful purpose for training. Today it was a lakeside picnic not far from Kakarrot's home in the mountains. He didn't need to look to know what was going on: Gohan and his mate would be mooning in each other's eyes while their daughter, Pan, was spoiled further by her grandfather; Marron would try to cheer up Goten -- he and Trunks who would be sulking by now because they weren't allowed a good, friendly fight; Bulma and that harpy mate of Kakarrot's would be laying out the food and that old man Roshi would be trying to peek up their skirts... Vegeta smiled as a yelp reached his ears. And that was Roshi's reward once the women figured out what he was doing.

All was as it usually was. Except for one key absence. He focused on the figure sitting on the ground below him. She should be with the others, gossiping with Pan and Marron. Instead, she was hiding here. Bulla had done this more and more, retreated. Her training was grueling. It had to be. Her mental display had brought everything into focus. This is what his people had feared, a segment of the race no one knew how to catalog or control, and so had chosen to eradicate. She needed control like no other, and so they'd spent hours, sometimes days, drilling that control into her even as they pushed her physically to learn to fight. They. Vegeta shuddered. That he had gone to Kakarrot and Piccolo for assistance still stunned him. Part of him still insisted this was a matter between father and child. But the Namek had impressive mental discipline honed in ways he had not. Kakarrot, as the other head of a Saiyan family, simply had a right to know.

Speaking of, on cue Kakarrot's familiar energy reading flew in close and hovered in front of him, Pan's smaller energy landing at the base of the tree. "Can you never leave me in peace?"

"Aw, c'mon, Vegeta, you're missing out on all the fun! The boys are planning a three-legged race. Wanna be my partner? We'll crush 'em."

He smiled in spite of himself. "There are times when I wonder if cracking you in the head again would bring you back to your senses."

"You've tried more than once. Hasn't helped yet."

Too true. "I'll sit this one out. But if they decide on a game of pin the clown, call me."

"You mean pin the tail on the donkey?"

He gave Kakarrot a meaningful stare. "No. I don't."

Kakarrot sobered as he settled on an adjacent branch, nodding his head towards Bulla as Pan braided her hair. He lowered his voice. "Are you this worried about her?"

"As if I'd play your silly games for any reason."

"Aloof is one thing, but you're not just not participating, you're keeping watch. Something else happen?"

He shook his head. "It's what's been happening. The more she learns, the more she draws into herself. She's afraid of herself. Afraid of what she'll unleash. Discipline and control are fine, but she's clamping down so tight--"

"You're afraid she'll blow."

"Like a Harpean volcano."

----------

"Shine on me, baby, shine on me/Let your love light shine on me/My day turns to night when you're g-one/Break through the dark, my only one. Shine on me, baby, shine—"

"Sing something else, okay Pan?" Bulla rubbed her temples trying to ease the dull ache beneath. Typical kid, Pan had been singing the line over and over again like a CD with a bad scratch. She'd held out as long as she could – her mood wasn't Pan's fault – but the refrain gnawed at a place inside her and that barrier and her patience were growing thin.

"You've got no taste, Bulla. It's 1001 Degrees latest; it's da bomb."

"It's a bomb all right."

"Whatever. Look, I'm done with your hair. We can go race now."

"Huh?"

"Trunks and Goten are putting together a three-legged race." She ticked off the teams on her fingers. "Trunks and Uncle Goten, natch, Papa and Uncle Krillen, Mama and Marron, Nana and Aunt Bulma … Grandpa and Uncle V if he can get off his Saiyan throne long enough. Aunt Eighteen passed, said she'd watch the food. So see, I got no one else. We gotta team up." She hopped up, pulling Bulla's hand. "So c'mon, we need a good spot on the starting line."

Bulla yanked her hand free and started undoing the mess Pan had made of her hair. Just breathe, Bulla. It wasn't the first time Pan had gotten an idea in her head and wouldn't let go. "Team up with Uncle Goku; we both know my dad isn't racing."

"Hel-lo, haven't you been paying attention? Boy-boy, girl-girl. It's a battle of the sexes." She started air boxing. "Sistahs need to represent."

"Somebody needs to turn off the MT-1," Bulla muttered. Louder she replied, "Look, I appreciate your, uh, cause, but I'm not the one to help. That pitch may work on Eighteen; give it another shot." She lay back down, trying to settle her thoughts. Every part of her had been disjointed, looking for a way to scrape their way out of her skin. The meditations Piccolo had showed her had worked like a charm ... at first. But the dreams had come back. And the anger. No, not that simple. The need, she just could explain for what. So she worked past exhaustion and had asked Piccolo for stronger meditations. She knew she was supposed to Challenge her dad, but if this is what it felt like, she didn't want to be more Saiyan after all.

Pan didn't take the hint. "Bul-la." She felt the younger girl stomp. "I'm not taking no for an answer. You've been sulking around all day. No fun." Pan grabbed her hand again, but before she could yank it back, she felt her body lift off the ground.

"Hey! Let go of me!"

"No way!" Pan kept pulling her higher. "You're pairing with me and that's that."

Bulla pressed her own energy, pulling the opposite way. It was clawing harder at the barriers she'd built over the past few weeks, the contest of even a simple tug of war triggering a tide that could engulf her. _I don't want to let it out; I can't._ "This isn't a game, Pan. Let go of me." Pan had hold of her with both hands, glowing brighter as she strained to keep them airborne and headed towards the picnic site. Bulla raised her free hand and slapped Pan's shoulder. Damn pest.

"So you wanna play rough." Pan's energy kicked into high gear, shooting them a distance from the trees. "Ha, I may be little, but I'm tough. Now stop being a baby and come on."

_How dare she_.

"Pan! Let her go now!" Goku's voice coming closer. He could sense it, desperate to stop it.

Too late.

Bulla stopped dead, and Pan's little body jerked at the sudden change in motion. The girl pulled and pulled, but try as she might, she couldn't get her to budge. "I know a game we can play, Pan. It's called tag." She thrust kicked the girl, felt her ribs give beneath her foot. Her arm finally free, she locked her hands to deliver a hammer bl-- Ugh! A blast to her back knocked the wind from her. Gasping, she watched the little body fall, still breathing, into Goku's grasp as he swooped in and kept heading south.

"Pick on someone bigger than you; your defeat won't be so bitter."

She turned towards her father's voice. There it was like the last time. His beautiful burning power answering hers, strumming alongside hers, coaxing it. Just like the last time, except this time nothing would stop their rite. "Or the victory that much more sweet."

"Spoken like a Saiyan."

"You've done a lot for me these past weeks, Father, driving home just how Saiyan I am." She crouched into an opening stance. "Let's see if I've learned to fight like one." She launched full on, elbow out like a missile.

He dodged. "Amateur."

She smiled. "Yes." And back-elbowed the smirk right off his face before he could land the punch he'd aimed for her back. Turned, grabbed his out leg, whip-tucked him beneath her in a full-throttle locked power dive, dropping, dropping, slam, her shoulder driving his gut through the earth to bedrock.

She leaped from the crater, defensive stance. His power was down, his breath shallow, his movement, none. But she'd seen him fight. He would not be defeated so easily. "What next, Father." The air stirred, a breath of motion. Was that-- An arm barred across her throat, tightening.

"You learned well, Daughter, in such a short time. You've done your bloodline proud. Your Challenge well met. Accept your place in the fold. And welcome." With each word it grew harder to breathe, to fight the black tingeing the edges of her vision. The inner darkness sighed, yielding to the dominant, melding into the other parts of her soul. _At last._

But the trust wasn't all-consuming. A cold wind stirred, rippling through the calm. _Breathe. Breathe. Wake up._

_Wake up._

Air and light, life and darkness burst from her bone and blood, sinew and vein. What she could see, she was. What she could sense in air and earth, she was. And she could see everything. Everything. Her mind, her self belonged to all and it belonged to her, exalting her and swallowing her in one motion. Awesome. Awful.

Sensation caught her attention. There, all around them, Bulla could see the air shimmering, life force humming. She could slow it down. She could speed it up. She could make it expand. She could make it contract. Ebb. Flow. Live. Die.

_Bulla!_

Terror. Pain. Goku. Trunks. Mama. Daddy. It was hurting them. She was hurting them. But she didn't know how to stop.

_I'm here, Princess. Focus. Just like the training room._

Daddy? Focus. Gathering it in to just a small window, herding towards a mere five senses. But she hadn't like that before; she didn't like it now. _No. I don't want to be that small again. Why should I, Daddy. Why should I?_

_Because you're crushing us._

Cuts seared along her skin, bones cracked in her limbs, cries blistered her ears. Their agony; her agony. _No!_ But the all surrounded her, scattered like dust motes in a glittering light. Too many to gather. But she had to try. Slow the motes down, slow, stop. Narrow gaze. A cluster within a cluster, smaller, fewer. One. She grasped it in her mind, held fast, pulling another, another, grouping, massing. So on and on and on into a cohesive whole. She took the ball and drew it in….

Sounds and light slammed into her, its ordered flow the way it used to be. She dropped to her knees, gasping for air; hammers slammed her brain. Her lungs forget their pump, her heart its pulse, in a slivered time, then rejoined the norm. It hurt so much. Not them anymore, just her. Oh God it hurt.

Her father was near. "I'm here, Bulla, just take it easy."

"Daddy, please, make it stop."

"Princess--"

"MAKE IT STOP!"

A blow through her body. Her air was gone. And sweet, sweet black came down.

--------

Vegeta collapsed half across his daughter, his fist still planted deep in her gut. He'd wanted to end the Challenge quickly before she got hurt, and thankfully it seemed to have been enough. At least for the Challenge. Her Wretched power was another matter entirely.

He pulled himself to his feet and slung her over his shoulder. Even he shuddered at the sights below him as he lifted off. Great impressions in the earth, tops of trees splinted like a giant had squashed them with his hand. He tried to take small solace in the fact that she had finally managed to contain it. He could only hope the Namek's mental training had helped on that score and could continue to hone her powers.

He landed at the picnic site and laid her down on a blanket nearby. Trunks had Bulma; the others were coming around amid groans and grunts. He walked towards a panting Goku who still cradled his granddaughter. "How is she?"

"I think she has a broken rib, and that wave of pressure didn't help. We should get everyone to the hospital, get them checked out."

He nodded, moving over to his mate. He met the fear in her eyes with a hesitant brush across her cheek. "You okay?" She "mph'd" a yes. "You have anything that will hold us all?"

She shot him a look as if to say _Who do you think you're talking to?_ "I'll set up the mini transport in the clearing. It'll be a little tight. If those who can fly feel well enough to do so, that'll give us enough room." She stood and winced back down almost as fast, holding her side. He moved to help her up. He'd carry her if need—

_Dear gods_.

Force, flying debris. Screams as he and the others went soaring off into the air, the explosion of soil and grass choking off breath and sight. He could sense the other fighters' agitation but between the Bulla's attack and the blast, they were slow to move. It was the aura behind the attack that drained the blood from his guts.

It wasn't Bulla.

It was—

"Hello … Sire." The sneering voice was directed at him. He could barely make out an outline through the dust clouds. A taller, broader being, and a smaller one in its arms. "Amazing. I've never felt anything quite like it. I want to play with it for a little while ... before I come back for you."

_It can't be._ His super Saiyan power coursed through him. "Put her down!" He longed rip off a blast, but how could he fire with her as a veritable shield? Then the figure was just gone, a hint of laughter all that remained.

"Vegeta!" Kakarrot crawled toward him, following his line of sight; clearly as disturbed as he was by the aura he'd felt. "It's impossible. He was dead."

Vegeta surveyed the area in the clearing smoke, his heart clinching at the sight of the now-empty blanket. "Not anymore."

--------

Bulla's head pounded as she came to, unease flitting through her. Something was wrong. The air felt different in her lungs, a subtle energy hummed through the surface she lay on. She reached out to touch it. Metal. And it was quiet. Too, too quiet.

Her eyes opened onto what she already knew. She was no longer in the park. And in the core of her being, she knew she was no longer on Earth.

She sat up at the mechanical shush of a hydraulic door opening. A large figure loomed in the doorway, too obscured by the lights behind for her to see his face. But his energy … _Wait, I can sense his energy?_

"You're awake. Good." A plate of food slid into her sight. "Eat well. Regain your full strength. Tomorrow we shall begin."

"Begin what? Who are you?"

He moved closer, knelt down before her. "We shall begin our glorious war. And I, your eager opponent, am Broly."

END PART I

* * *

_All characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama and used without permission. This work of fiction is for entertainment and homage purposes only._

I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. And yes, I'm busy on Part II. I'm trying to get far enough ahead that I can update more frequently. As always, thanks for your patience and reviews.


	5. Chapter 5

The Wretched - NCDavis - Part II

* * *

His pronouncement was full of such surety that Bulla shook off a bit of her confusion long enough to truly focus on him. Brawny would have been the best name. Massive. Muscle upon muscle corded in his neck, swelled through his bare torso. The same had to be said for his lower body though she couldn't make it out under the blouson-style pants he wore. Tension sang in his body, even though, as odd as it sounded, he seemed to be relaxed. Tension and rage. From the tips of his toes to the cruel grin on his face. A face, Bulla realized, which bore green irises and a blond brow shimmering with power. "You look like a super Saiyan." The thought blurted out before she could stop it.

"Not 'a.' _The_. The original super Saiyan. The legend that made all bad little Saiyan boys quiver in their beds." He leaned closer still, his mouth a breath from hers. "I made your father quiver. And Kakarrot." And odd note struck the name. "I dreamed of meeting him again; I'd finally found him. And what to my surprise, but I found you as well. And that sweet, sweet power." His gaze lingered a moment then he grabbed her chin. "Tell me what are you called."

"Bulla."

"Bul-la." He seemed to ponder it for a moment, smiling a smile that made her shiver. He released her, standing and striding for the door. "I can't wait till tomorrow."

The door opened and closed behind him on that ominous note. Eat? Sleep? How the hell was she supposed to that? She had no doubts Saiyan children feared him. Power. Power. Power. Everything that radiated from him screamed it in mind-numbing waves. Somehow he thought she was a worthy opponent, and this wouldn't be training drills. "Oh God, " she whispered, "I'm gonna die."

--------

"Start talking, Saiyan."

Vegeta flinched. Bulma yelling he could handle. Bulma deadly quiet ... in all their years mated he'd seen her this furious at him only once before, enough to realize if she ever turned her genius to it, she could likely figure out a way to kill him. And even then, she had still called him by name. In truth, this time he was partially to blame. Beyond the discussion they first had about the Wretched, he'd kept her in the dark. He hadn't wanted her concerned for her daughter. He hadn't wanted her concerned that he didn't have the situation under control. He almost laughed. The situation was as out of control as it could be, but telling his mate that wouldn't be wise.

They'd gotten the others to the hospital. Kakarrot had stayed behind with his family. They'd returned to Capsule Corp. Trunks was probably as mad at him as his mother was, but he'd overridden his protests and sent him away. His mate was another matter.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I'm waiting."

He leaned against the wall. "It's a long story." He told her everything. About the night with Bulla in the training room. About Kakarrot and Piccolo's role in her development and what had happened at the picnic. About the Saiyan who took their child, the Super Saiyan born with seemingly unlimited power who Goku barely defeated on the false New Planet Vegeta. "I don't know how he sensed Bulla. What I'm certain of is that it wasn't her energy level he read, but her other powers. I honestly can't tell you what he pla--"

She was suddenly in his face. "Shut up. Just-- Do you know what I want to do to you." By the white-knuckled fist at trembling at her side, he had a good idea. "The only thing stopping me is that there are more important things to do with my time right now than beating sense into you." She stalked past him.

He followed. "Bulma--"

"Don't 'Bulma' me. Badass or no, Broly showing up is just an X factor. Y_ou_ didn't tell me what was _really_ going on with my child. That her psionic powers had been increasing this much."

"Psi-what?"

"Psionic." she tossed over her shoulder. "It's clear now if she's exhibiting the usual powers the "wretched" did, then they were all psionics, beings who can control matter with their minds, read others thoughts. I know you warriors have a subtle amount of this ability. You use it to hone your control of your energy attacks. But their mental control _is_ their attack. Telekinesis, empathic abilities."

"H-How did you--"

She swung around to face him. "'Cause I'm a frickin' genius, maybe? Cause my daughter was crushing our bones from 100 yards away? You were so wrapped up in 'this is Saiyan business' bullshit you never once thought your pitiful little human mate could help you, did you? _Did_ you!"

There was nothing to be said; they both knew it. So she left him to stand there like the fool he was while she entered her destination. He took a deep breath and followed. They'd gone to the observatory. Bulma was busy pulling up holograms of Earth and the surrounding space, zooming in and out different angles. Completely ignoring him. "I am sorry, Woman." he sighed, lapsing into her pet name. "I only intended to spare you worry."

Her hand paused a brief second in its course of action. "Spare me? Dear God, Vegeta. I've watched you kill half a stadium full of people and stood by you all the same. I've been through Frieza. Cell. Buu. What the hell could you spare me from by now. When are you going to learn you don't have to bear everything alone?" He thought he heard her breath catch on a sob, but when he looked closer, her expression betrayed nothing. "But that's something else. Right now we need to find her. I take it you didn't sense Broly coming or going?"

"No. The only explanation I have is some sort of instant transmission technique."

"Then he had to have a close point of origin."

He moved round to her side of the console. "It could have been a galaxy away. Hell, Kakarrot can jump from this world to the next."

"Did he know this technique when you fought before?" He shook his head. "Then I don't think his point of origin was that far away." She typed away on a keypad under the hologram. "You say he's obsessed with Goku. If that's so, he could've shown up way before now. If he'd known instant transmission. But he didn't. Which means he learned it from someone. Our legend's been traveling; probably looking for Goku not unlike you did after Frieza. Which means ... yes." He watched a blip appear in orbit above the planet. "Our satellites picked up an unidentified ship not long before Bulla was kidnapped. Not long after, it moves out of orbit and speeds away." A few button punches later, a picture-in-picture popped up with the ship in full dimensional view.

"I recognize that make. It's Yalarian. They make Saiyan ships look like turtles."

"I'm gonna work with the satellite data, try to map a trajectory. Anything unique about Yalarian technology I can use to track it?"

"The fuel trail has a distinct chemical vapor. But the mineral is not found on Earth."

"I'm sending bots out to take gas samples from the ship's exit point. I'll figure a way to use the intel. Have Trunks make sure CC's fastest ship is prepped and ready. Brief the guys. The second I have this done you'll wanna roll."

He laid his palm atop her hand. "We make a pretty good team."

She stilled under his touch. "Don't forget it again."

He wouldn't. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close. "I will bring her home."

"I know."

He headed out. She caught him in the doorway. "Vegeta? Do me one favor? This time make sure the sonuvabitch stays dead."

_

* * *

All characters herein are property of Akira Toriyama. This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only._

Yes, a nod to d20 games for the term "psionic." I like it better than "psychic" as an overarching term for Bulla's abilities.


	6. Chapter 6

The Wretched Part II Chapter 2  
by NCDavis

* * *

Bulla landed with a hard thump and a stinging slide down the wall. Normal breathing hurt; bruises had long formed on her arms and legs. Out of pride or sheer stupidity she'd tried to follow what combat skills she'd been taught, more as a shield than as offense, but it hadn't taken a hot second to realize a few weeks' of training weren't going to put her anywhere in his league even in the name of defense. And unlike the purpose of the fight with her father, Broly simply wanted mayhem. He'd been tossing her around like a rag doll sans stuffing. And the Brolys kept coming. No, wait. She blinked to clear her vision. One Broly. Two and she'd already be dead.

His fury descended on her. "Why won't you fight me!"

She'd been telling him all day for all the good it did. "C-Can't. Just learning. Doesn't work like that anyway, like yours."

"You lie." Energy gathered in his palms. "I saw you crushing your father, Kakarrot. Are they more worthy than me," he rasped. "ARE THEY MORE WORTHY!"

He brought his hands together and joined the twin spheres of rage, one blue-white surge of destruction heading towards her. Terror gripped her, but her power didn't answer as before. The heat from the ball grew closer, blinding her. Nothing would save her now.

_Then you'd better save yourself._

What had she done before; what had she done. Air. Molecules. Squeeze. "Oomph!" The back end of the attack caught her, bounced her across the floor. But the brunt of it exploded in front of her as it crashed against an unseen wall. _I think I did that_. She collapsed. _Hooray for me._

Rumbling laughter filled the room. She'd almost forgotten about him. She felt energy building again. "Well done, Highness. See if you can block this." She cracked her eye open enough to see him forming the same attack, except each single ball was growing as big as the last one combined. Okay, had to get it done faster, better. Gathering, weaving. Damn, she'd lost a thread. The pounding in her head wasn't making this easier, but he wasn't having any problems at all. She continued building her barrier, held it. And when he unleashed his wave, a thought flitted though her mind. _The little things turn the tide._ She curved the wall in on itself.

_Hey batter, batter._

The power rushed closer.

_Hey better, batter._

Closer.

_Swing!_

Every ounce of thought thrust the air wall-turned-bat forward, dead center of Broly's pitch. For a moment, the two forces fought for dominance of space. But she saw the moment his energy yielded, reversed its course. She kept her barrier's form. And let it fly.

With the extra push his attack recoiled on Broly faster than he anticipated. He crossed his arms in front of himself to block it, but not in time. His energy slammed into him. Her force field drove it home and, when the energy was dispelled, kept on driving through him, into the wall, before it she released the force back to its normal state.

Her head throbbed in agony. She couldn't do it again. She panted, waiting for his energy to rebuild again. None came. She rose up on her elbows, wincing at the sharp pain in her shoulder. He was down. And by the low ebb of his life energy, he was out.

Her body begged her to lie back down, but she couldn't rest now. He was unconscious, but she had no idea how long he'd stay that way. And there was no way he'd be happy when he woke up. She dragged herself to her feet, using the wall as a crutch. As she made her way out of the room, she couldn't help but glance his way; keep an eye on him just in case. Her Dad had taught her power levels could lie. What she saw stopped her cold, drew her even though without the wall she could only reach him on her knees and reason screamed at her to go the other way. She paused, reached out for some sense of thinking, plans to trick her, but found nothing.

He was beautiful. The power at bay, his hair lay long and darkly tussled around his face, a face that spoke of peace and sweet oblivion. Not the mask of hate and madness that otherwise consumed him. How could this be the same person? _Do you plan to ask him when he wakes?_ Heck, no. This was a puzzle for another day. She had to move.

----------

The corridor seemed to go forever, but she finally reached the bridge. She barely registered the doors swushing shut behind her as she approached the console. Prismed stars streaked by large viewing portals in the inky black of space. The subtle motion of a display, the occasional blinking on and off of lights on the console told her the autopilot was engaged. Apparently Broly hadn't bothered with a crew. Or maybe he'd killed them all as a way to pass the time.

She sank into the pilot's chair. They needed to land. A moving target was harder to hit, or in this case, track. She leaned closer to the control pads. Guess it was too much to ask the script would at least be in an alphabet she could read. She'd hoped maybe even Saiyan. Dad had taught her a bit. But the lines and squiggles meant nothing. Tears stung her eyes as she slapped her hand on the pad.

Depressions. Patterns. _Bearing two mark seven zero Alpha..._ She jerked her hand back, her fingertips stinging with a mild burn, her head still hurting. She'd … she'd felt them. Definitely more than one being who'd sat in this chair and navigated this ship across galaxies. And she'd felt the imprint of Broly. That had been the one, well, higher thought process she'd understood. The rest had been impressions of existence.

_Damn, you're just bag o' surprises, hey girl? _If she could do that with navigation, then maybe…. She went inside with her vision, touched lightly here and there until she found scanners and figured out how to program them to search for carbon-based life. No point in landing somewhere she couldn't breathe. And hey, maybe some of mom's smarts had rubbed off after all. Eventually results came in. A planet was not far from their current heading. Pushing the now constant pain aside, she kept reading the impressions, adjusting course and preparing the craft for planetary set-down.

The denim blue of the lower atmosphere had just come into view when she felt it, the first rise in Broly's power. She breathed in deep to keep her composure. She had a craft to land and he wasn't fully awake yet. She shifted to her physical sight long enough to spot a nice open field. The landing gear slid into place. The craft slowed, came round to make final touchdown. And the full flare of Super Saiyan power sprang into her consciousness.

She felt more than heard his battle cry. Anger, yes, but also challenge. Some part of him loved that she'd bested him and thirsted for more. She didn't have it in her to oblige. She didn't think she could get back down to the hull to use the exit ramp off the ship. And he was on the move. There was nothing for it. Focusing on the viewing portals, she frantically searched for the molecular pattern. Not glass, not plexi, but not unlike crystal…. Looking, looking, until she found the structure and started ripping it apart. She barreled through the hole full blast, ignoring the long, thin lines ripped from her skin as she caught the jagged remains. Behind her rang out a hunter's howl. Darkening sky lay ahead.

* * *

_The characters herein are owned by Akira Toriyama. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only._


	7. Chapter 7

The Wretched – Part II – Chapter 3  
by NCDavis

* * *

Vegeta sat crossed-legged in the near-darkness of the ship's main cabin. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the silver-blue glow from warp field starlight. Bulma had found the chemical trail, and made the ship to follow it. When it had become apparent the fastest ship Capsule Corp had wasn't nearly fast enough, she'd almost killed herself modifying the basic Saiyan design with clues she'd learned from the satellite images of the Yalarian vessel, but, she'd told them, when she was done, the upgrade would more than make up the time it'd take for the retrofit. The trail had grown stronger. They were perhaps a week or two behind now. 

He opened his eyes. Trunks was still at the helm, though the ship was on autopilot. His head bent, his eyes closed, breath even. Not asleep. Meditating. A surge of pride filled him. Trunks had changed over the past few weeks. For the first time he'd seen his son treat training as more than an exercise. Trunks had even gone off on his own, the only indication of his location strengthening spikes of power. Here, now, he maintained his focus. There was a time not long ago the boy would have been pacing up and down, peppering him with questions. Wasting energy. Despite his lack of experience, he was thinking like a warrior, preparing himself in body and mind for battle. _A battle he could lose._

"I know, Father."

Vegeta stilled. He couldn't have--

His son looked towards him. "I can't read your mind either." He flashed a smile. "But I can tell you've been staring at me. And I thought, if I were you looking at me, what would I be thinking? I'd be thinking he's not ready for this."

"You're trained well, and your instincts have improved—"

"Thanks for the pep talk, but I'm not delusional either." A frown creased his brow. "If Goten could have come ... with the fusion... I can't believe he got hit with that virus."

Vegeta agreed. A virus similar to the one that had stricken Kakarrot long ago had laid low his younger boy. Goten had treatment and would recover, but was in no condition to fight. The fusion of the Trunks and Goten would have made a formidable weapon indeed. The timing couldn't be worse.

"Goku's the only one with a real chance to stop him now. We can only hope to slow Broly down, somehow soften him up and not die in the process."

Trunks left the reason why unsaid. As at peace as Vegeta was with Kakarrot being the stronger warrior, he was not so docile as to not wish to keep pace. He was a Saiyan. Competition was in their blood. But now, more than ever, that new divide taunted him. Super Saiyan level three. If he could have achieved it, their odds would be much improved. As it was... His son's assessment was frighteningly accurate. The two men of royal Saiyan blood reduced to cannon fodder.

- - - - - - - -

Deep inside the small cave, Bulla ignored her growling stomach and managed to get a weakly little fire going. She didn't dare build a large of one and create a lot of smoke, or create a stronger blaze with her power. She'd spent the past few days keeping a lid on any power levels that could give her location away. Who knew if that would be enough, or if other humanoid life existed here to act as camouflage. Though sincerely she hoped not. She could never forgive herself if she'd inflicted Broly's wrath on an unsuspecting people.

And what a wrath it was. He'd been circling the land looking for her, keeping her on the move. No methodical search. Oh no. Hills blew up in showers of debris, trees flew, animals ran scared looking for cover of their own. His power levels were beaming. She knew where he was at all times, including when he went back to search the area around the ship throughout the day. Crazy he was, but not completely stupid. That ship was the only way for her off this planet.

Small tremors rumbled on the heels of a sonic boom northeast of her. He was on the move again. Closer than she liked. If she was going to relocate, she needed to decide soon before he got in visual range.

_Kaboom_. Pebbles crumbled from the top of the cave. Way too close. The decision was made for her. She threw dirt on the small flame to douse it and headed outside. Quickly she sprinted into the trees, taking whatever cover they gave her in a now grungy, torn designer dress. Funny, she couldn't remember the name on the label. And she no longer cared. She paused a moment to get her bearing, caught sight of her arms and legs caked with dirt, sweat and determination. She no longer recognized the girl she used to be, and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

She squinted through the copse of trees, noting the sun sinking towards the horizon. She could go east; there was a ridge past the tree line. No, she'd hidden there before. Maybe south. It was mostly open plain once she broke through the forest, but if she kept to the edge, maybe created some kind of diversion to send him the other way, she could make a break for it.

Or maybe she could just stop running.

She leaned against a big rough trunk. She didn't know the last time she'd eaten. She was cold, tired and, as of this morning, out of water. That was the kicker. Even if she doubled back to the spring she'd found, he'd know it too. Every inch of land Broly tracked her meant more information he gained on just what options she had. _Dammit_. She was trapped in a stalemate. Forget the ship. Her only real path off this world lay through _him_. The question was would she be alive when she made the trip. But she'd be dead if she stayed here too. The sad, cold truth? She had a better chance with Broly.

Taking a deep breath, she walked out into the clearing ahead. And waited. But not for long. His golden comet streaked towards her, landing a few feet away. Neither of them spoke, measuring each other. He finally came towards her with that damn smirk on his face. "You've led me on quite the chase, Highness. Tired of playing so soon?"

Yes, she was. "Let's get back to the ship. I have repairs to make." She turned towards the direction she last knew it to be and started walking. She didn't have the energy to fly back and fix it. How he got back was up to him.

After several minutes, he hovered beside her. "Quaint, but slow. Let's go." He shot off. She kept walking. When he circled back around, he wasn't smirking anymore. "Don't toy with me, Highness."

She stopped. "Or what, you'll kill me? Defeats the purpose of playing with my power, doesn't it. And last I knew, you can't fix the big hole in the bridge's forward shield."

He landed a hair's breath in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up into his stony, frowning visage. "You are the only one here not able to survive in space without that ship. Be careful, Highness. I may decide to test the limits of that power of yours, see which one of us lasts longer out there."

She paused at that one, thinking. "Let me guess, you have one tough force field surround you, right? Wonder how long the air lasts in there." She looked him up and down. "With all that muscle you're packing, I'd say not too long. Me? A molecule here, an atom there ... I think I'd do just fine." She stepped around him and kept going.

His power flared and she barely registered it behind her before he was in her way again. "You defy me. Do you want to die?"

"No, but it's looking more like the inevitable. And if I'm going to die, I'm doing it on my terms."

He let his power fly, nearly blinding at this range, his voice a rough-hewn growl. "No one defies me."

Something inside her clicked. Not anger, not the darkness of the Challenge, but just... There wasn't a word for it, but whatever fear had remained morphed into something else she did remember from the Challenge: the eagerness of a good fight. She had one good shot in her, if it came down to it. After that, well, she'd just said she wanted to die on her own terms. She looked him calm and square in the eye. "I am not 'no one'. I am the first daughter of the royal house of Vegeta. I've seen bigger, badder power ups than this, baby, so you wanna impress someone, try it somewhere else."

What little green had been left in his eyes melted into white fury. He aimed at her, a massive ball of energy instantly springing from both palms brought together, fired, the force exploding towards her….

And nothing.

As the glare cleared, flecks of power glittered briefly before fading away. Bulla stood, slightly panting. It had been close, another second or two would've fried her, but she'd read his energy and rearranged the composition to nothing but harmless gases. Maybe she could do it once again. Maybe. She prayed the absolute stunned expression on Broly's face was a good sign.

She kept walking, wishing she did have it in her to fly. The sun had set, and while, surprisingly, her head didn't pound as it had before when she used her powers, that was the only part of her that felt good. Her legs were heavy, her stomach was starting to cramp -- Broly's laugh of pure joy rang out behind her -- and if that were an indication, she'd need to reserve what strength she had left to amuse Mr. Legend. He caught up to her again on foot, damn if he wasn't still grinning.

"Glorious. You and I shall have a wonderful battle tomo--" He stopped her by her arms, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "You are injured."

What was it about Saiyans sounding so damn sure about _everything_. "I'm tired, Broly, and long past starving." She went to take a step, but hit nothing but air. Broly cradled her in his arms as he left the ground. She had no will to argue, and really, why argue about a free ride? Even though he was more than strong enough to hold her, she felt a bit awkward with her arm hanging down. Gently, she wrapped it around his shoulder, and as the stars chased the last stripes of daylight from the sky, she fell asleep.

- - - - - - - -

_When did the ground get so soft_. Bulla stretched and rolled over, patting the soil. Wait, that's right. She'd stared down Broly and fallen asleep in his arms.

She bolted upright. _Holy hell._ And she was still alive to tell the tale.

They must be back on the ship. Clearly she was atop a bed, a much nicer one than she'd been in most of her time here. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out the drapes of fabric hanging from each poster at the corners of the bed, a bed that took up most of the small room. A large, built-in desk ran along the opposite wall, with shelving, odd slots and grooves she couldn't make out as clearly and the door running the length of the wall adjacent it. Captain's quarters she figured. A large observation portal took up most of the remaining wall, fitted with a built-in bench. A leg was stretched out on it. She could guess who it belonged to.

"You're finally awake. Drink you broth. It's at the foot of the bed."

She couldn't contain the giggle as she scooted to the edge of the bed. Sure enough, a cup filled with liquid sat on a small padded bench.

"I see no humor in such simple facts."

She took a tentative sip. Not bad. "Don't get yourself all worked up. You just, for a moment, reminded me of my father. With Uncle Goku, Gohan and Goten around, I forget my dad's grumpiness is more the rule of Saiyan behavior than the exception."

"Goku? I was unaware Prince Vegeta has a brother, or that he survived."

Bulla situated herself on the small bench so she could see him better. Yup, he was ensconced nice n' cozy on the window seat. "He doesn't. Goku and Dad aren't related by blood. They're bound 'is forged in war' as Dad likes to say. And, um, you know Goku by his Saiyan name. Kakarrot." She could see the veins bulging out of his forehead already. "What is it with you and him anyway? You act like he killed your father or something."

"No. That honor was mine."

A chill skittered down her spine. She did not want to go there. "O-kay. That still doesn't answer my question." Her voice dropped. "What did he do?"

"He cried."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you just crack a joke?"

"Joke?"

"Nevermind."

He turned his gaze out the portal. "I remember being an infant, and another infant next to me. I remember impressions of others around us. Caregivers. Kakarrot's power level was small, average. But his cry announced such potential. I knew it, even if the fools around us did not. I wanted to fight him then, but my desire was trapped in that small, worthless form. As I grew, with every planet I destroyed, I wanted him to come for me. He made me wait so long, until my father unwittingly brought him to me. He is the only one who has ever challenged me. Until you."

"If you're still looking for a one-on-one battle royal, he's still your guy."

"Even now you underestimate yourself. That's unbecoming a Saiyan."

"You sound like my dad again." He snorted in reply. She finished the last of her broth. "That was pretty good. I've been impressed with the food this puppy makes. Mom has talked about computer-synthesized food before, but the folks who made this ship beat her to it. She'd love to analyze it."

"_Synthesized_." He sounded insulted. "The food stores are very real."

"You're not going to tell me you made this."

"Karvak meat is prized on Yalaria. It's what you had your first night here. The broth was rendered from tougher cuts and bones, the marrow from which is highly nutritious. That is what you'll drink until you're ready for solid food again."

Huh? "You know what they like? I mean, you took the time to get to know them?"

"A legend needs his strength. Spending time among the natives before blasting them into oblivion is a Saiyan specialty, or didn't your father teach you that."

No, but he'd told Trunks, and she'd overhead plenty. She changed the subject. "Still, you offered this to me. I think you just did something _nice_." He scowled. "And you're doing a dad again too."

He turned his anger towards her. "Stop. Mocking. Me."

"I'm not, not really." She sighed and joined him on the portal seat, sitting at his feet. "I swear, Saiyan men and their pride." The clouds parted, and shafts of silver light tinged with pink shone on him. That stark, masculine beauty struck her again, even now, more now, in his super Saiyan form so natural to him. _For the love of all that's holy, Bulla, get a grip. This is _so_ not the guy to get the hots for. Focus on anything else._ Hey, wait, pink light? Climbing up on her knees to get a better view of the night sky, she saw a blanket of stars surrounding twin crescent moons, the larger casting the familiar silver-blue glow, the smaller a pinkish coral.

"You've been on this planet seven of its cycles. You act as though you haven't seen them before."

She barely answered him, never taking her eyes off the moons. "I haven't. I spent all my nights in caves … They're so beautiful."

"They are moons." She heard the shrug in his voice. "To weak to break free from this planet's grip, merely reflecting another body's glory."

"They're pearls nestled in the blue-black fabric of the night. Dreams sitting before you. They seem so out of reach, and yet you can cup you hand just so," she mimicked her words against the portal, "and hold them in your palm. But in its own way, that was rather poetic of you." She turned. The oddest expression was on his face. "You look like you can't decide to be insulted or complimented." His eyes locked with hers. Even in calm, the rage lurked beneath. "Why are you so angry?" Drawn into that gaze, she bent over him, reached towards the center of brow. "What do you want, Broly?"

She could feel the heat of his skin just beneath her fingertip when he stopped her hand. "You need more rest, Highness."

"I'm fine."

He continued as if she hadn't said a word. "Use the bed. You'll stay here where I can watch you."

He was … quiet. For the first time since he'd brought her into space. She squelched the rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, not wanting to spoil his mood. "May I clean up first? I haven't had a full bath in days. I feel uggie."

"Uggie?"

"Nevermind."

He nodded his head towards the desk. "There's a hidden panel in the corner of the wall. Push it; a door will slide back letting you into the facilities." He hesitated. "You may ask the computer to synthesize a change of clothes."

Amazed by his courtesy, she padded over to the wall. Sure enough, she found the panel and activated the door. Sweet. "Thanks." Not surprised that he didn't respond, she glanced over her shoulder. He'd turned his gaze back through the portal, straight up at the moons.

- - - - - -

Half asleep, some part of her kept sense of him, his power, like a soft, deep purr beneath her consciousness. Steady, even. Oddly comforting. Most of the time. When he thought she was sleeping, she'd feel him leave the ship. Not too far, but far enough, apparently, to keep from damaging the ship further. Then his power would surge, sometimes she could feel the quaking of the ground from barrages of energy blasts. Chaos. There was no order to the routine, no training. Just raw venting of power.

But he was back now and would bring her breakfast soon, as he had the past few days, and watch her, no doubt measuring to see if she was as full strength. Suddenly the power grew sharp, insistent. More like a summons. She stirred, opening her eyes to the deep grey of dawn.

_Can you hear me, Princess?_

That wasn't Broly.

She scrambled out of bed to the portal, searching the horizon for signs that what she'd heard wasn't wishful thinking. _Daddy?_

_I'm here. We've sighted your ship. Be patient a little while longer._ And then he was gone. At least from her mind. There was no doubt in her being he was here, on this planet. Hopefully that "we" wasn't in the royal sense. He'd need all the help he could get. She closed her eyes, concentrated. No other power registered; they were keeping themselves hidden. And she hadn't heard a ship overhead. She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Broly hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary yet.

The door slid open behind her. In came Broly, her food tray in hand, that familiar twisted smile in place. "Eat quickly. We don't want to keep our guests waiting."

* * *

_All characters herein are the property of Akira Toriyama and are used without permission. This work of fiction is intended for entertainment purposes only._

Author's note: It's alive. Alive! It's been ages, even for my slow-paced updating. Since I just don't have time to monitor lists or forums, I've decided to post updates at the top of my member profile. Does this mean you'll get weekly bits of juicy writing details? Alas, no. But when my internal alarm starts sounding that it's been a wee bit long since my last upload, I'll give you a progress report … on my member profile. I can tell you there are likely three pieces to The Wretched left, two larger chunks and one smaller one. And I'm aiming to post them in three chapters. Hopefully that'll give you your wait's worth.


	8. Chapter 8

The Wretched - Part II, Chapter 4  
NCDavis

* * *

Bulla ate slowly. As slowly as she thought she could get away with. She'd be more than happy to keep Broly stalled long enough for her rescue party to do whatever they needed to. Although, despite his words, he seemed to be in no hurry either. He'd changed clothes, suiting up with care. Boots. His preferred baggy pants. His back to her, he polished his golden gauntlets, slipping them on with an odd sense of finality. He worked a panel open, removing a box about the size of a phonebook, opened the hinged lid. She couldn't see the contents, but he stared at them for an eternity. 

She laid her plate aside. The inevitable delayed long enough. Still he stood there, staring at his box. She chanced to move closer towards him, keeping to his peripheral line of vision. Sneaking up on him wasn't ever a good idea. She waited. And waited. Curiosity finally won out. "Must be awfully pretty." Just when she didn't think he'd take the bait, he answered by lifting out an object. It was pretty; gold gleamed in a circlet, open in the back to be adjustable. A green oval jewel sat in the center, a smooth cabochon. She wouldn't have expected him to have something like it.

"My father had the first one made as a gift for me."

Bulla looked sharp, fighting off the shiver down her spine. The way he'd said it…. "The first one?"

He nodded. "I broke that one. I had this one made to replace it. To remind me of what I'd meant to my father, and what he'd done for me."

"That's … nice?"

He set the box down, turning to her with the circlet outstretched. "Would you like to try it on?" He looked torn, like he wanted her to wear it, but didn't. She nodded her ascent. It couldn't hurt to humor him and whatever odd mood had struck him. He drew near her, settled it across her brow with an oddly sweet brush of her bangs from her forehead as he fitted the curve to her skin. He stepped back from her, tension playing across his lips.

"Is something wrong?" He ignored her, reached into the other side of the box, taking out an identical circlet to hers -- except the jewel was red -- and put it on. Her own tension grew. Something wasn't right. "Um, thanks for letting me try this on, but you should take it back now." She reached up to remove the band; saw a brief glow in his red jewel.

And felt her circlet snap into place.

She tugged on it, trying to swallow panic down. It wouldn't budge. "Broly--"

"Remain calm, Highness."

"Calm? You tricked me into putting this thing on my head for a reason and it can't be good. I want it off!"

"I assure you I will be pleased to remove it once this is over. In the unlikely event Kakarrot ends my life, the control of my headband will end and yours will be easily removed."

"Then why put it on to begin with!"

He started to say something else, but changed his mind. "If you behave yourself, Highness, I won't have to show you." He walked out the door.

She had no choice but to follow, struggling to keep up with his full stride. Damn him for having longer legs. And for being typically secretive. She knew a verbal dismissal when she heard one. He was through talking. Okay, class, let's review what we've learned. Whatever else, she did believe he didn't like these bands, but he felt he needed to have them handy. So some sort of shackle? Made sense. No matter how comfy they'd been of late, she was still his prisoner. He wouldn't have come this far just to hand her over to her dad. But she didn't like it on her head, not one bit. A little voice inside wondered, why not take him? She was back to full strength. She quickly slapped that voice for the fool it was. Defensive moves were one thing; an all-out assault was another. She had a sinking suspicion he'd outlast her. And while the circlet clearly didn't restrict movement in the traditional sense of a shackle, it was something that could make her "behave herself" if he wanted it to.

Duh, she could rip it off with a little mind voodoo. She focused on it, looking for its structure. _Ouch._ A shock rippled through her skin. She gently tried again. Same shock. She stole a glance at him. He didn't seem to be doing it, more like the band defending itself. Oh yeah. Bad. Bad things.

The sun had risen higher, it's light brighter outside the ship, Bulla instinctively raised her hand to shade her eyes till they adjusted. She hadn't been outside since her return.

"Have you recovered?"

From the recent circlet trauma, maybe, but despite a sense of double meaning, she knew what he really meant. "Only because of the best care a power-mad Super Saiyan can provide."

He left her in a plume of dust on takeoff. Heh, it almost made her feel better. She lifted off in his wake, trailing slightly behind more by her design than his, thoughts drifting back to the bands. That glow in the stone before her circlet locked in place hadn't been coincidence. It was the control device for hers. How did it work? Pressure points maybe? Capsule Corp had been working on reflex-induced controls. Trunks had tested out some of the prototypes.

Trunks. Her hearted squeezed. She never thought she'd miss him so bad, her whole family. She sent out a small feeler. "_Daddy?"_

She felt his joy before his answer reached her. "_We have a plan. We'll be moving to your ship within the hour."_

_"We? Uncle Goku with you?"_

_"And Trunks."_

Just three. Four. She'd help out if she could. She wasn't some princess waiting to be rescue. Oh. Yeah. Right. _"Listen, we're not at the ship anymore. We're heading southwest from there. Broly must've seen your ship come in. He knows you're here."_

Ooh, she hadn't heard that cuss word before. _"Mom would box your ears if she heard you."_

_"Hmph. Who do you think I learned it from. Do you have any idea where he's headed?"_

_"Not really." _She hadn't come this far when she was on the run._ "There are mountains this way. That's all I know. I'll keep you posted._" Psych-link out.

She and Broly flew on in silence, eventually coming to a landing in a giant grassy plateau. It looked like something had lopped off the top of one of the peaks hundreds of thousands of years ago and left the perfect spot to take in the remaining mountainsides around. "Aw, you're such a romantic."

Silence. Bulla straightened. He was getting his game face on, and it was time she did to. Okay, pretty scenery, sure. Pity it was about to be caught in Armageddon. But as she looked at it from a warrior's perspective, it made good sense. High ground. Open ground. No sneaking up on them. _"Daddy, here's the recon. We're about sixteen miles from the ship on a large plateau within the mountain range. He's got a clear line of vision on incoming from the air."_

_"Understood. Kakarrot wanted to try a quick grab with Instant Transmission, but he can't get a specific fix on you. Broly's power level basically camouflages you."_

Great. "_Plan B?"_

_"More like Plan C. Simple. We fight our way in. We fight our way out."_

That sounded much easier said than done. _"I'll do what I can to help."_

_"I don't want you taking unnecessary risks."_

_"You're gonna need all the help you can get."_ Silence. He didn't like it, but he knew it was true.

_"Since you're so keen on advantages, do you think your telepathic abilities could work with the others?"_

That was a good question. _"Haven't tried."_ And that was the honest truth. When they'd first manifested, she'd been so busy trying to control her powers, she hadn't played with them much. Too scared she'd hurt someone.

_"No time like the present."_

Good point. Guess this was a job for Picolo Training 101. She quieted herself, scanning for power signals. Broly, as usual, beamed, but she soon relegated him to white noise. Casting further, further…. Three readings, clustered together, moving towards them. Suppressed, yet, she was able to see them nonetheless. She glanced at Broly. He didn't appear to see power the same way she did. Interesting. All the readings were certainly strong enough to be Saiyans, though not all the same level. She focused on the strongest one. "_Dad, can Uncle Goku raise his power without Broly noticing? Just a little."_

_"Yes."_

_"On my mark. Three, two, one..."_ There it was, a slight elevation in the strongest reading before it returned to its previous level. _"Okay. Now you."_ His power flared, then retreated. Keeping the link open helped her confirm that was her father. Which left the third as Trunks. Wow. Big bro was stronger than she thought. A lot stronger.

Now that she knew who was who, step two. Examine what caused the first instance, and try to repeat it. She'd had a power surge, but there was also a lot of emotion behind those early outbursts. Emotion. Trunks. Yeah, odd thinking back on it now. Dad took her places, took her flying, but Trunks was her playmate. How uncool for a 15-year-old to get turned into a big dress-up dollie by his little sister. But he let her -- bribed her with rock candy to keep her quiet about it -- but he let her. He never yelled at her, even when she was mean to his girlfriends. Jealous. Oh man, no floozie was stealing her brother away from her. _I never realized just how much you put up with me._

_"Hey, you're getting good at this."_

_"Trunks."_ Her heart glowed. _"Just remember what Dad's taught you, 'kay?"_

She felt his smile._"I missed you too."_

She turned to Uncle Goku. Big lovable goof, that pretty much summed him up. He kept her Dad from getting too morose. But aside from fun times at the beach, or watching him fight in tournaments, his warmth was more distant. The ties she had most with him were through her father. _"No go with Uncle Goku. I'm not good enough at this to link up with anyone at whim."_

_"Kakarrot will likely draw most of Broly's fire anyway. Not much time to talk."_

_"Listen, it's not all brute force. We're still going for a two-pronged attack," Trunks chimed in. "Dad and Goku are going in for Broly. While he's distracted, I'm coming for you. Be ready."_

_"Gotcha."_ Broly continued scanning the horizon. Bulla strolled around the mesa, hoping the big guy didn't note that as she did, she moved farther from him. Butterflies frenzied in her gut. There was no turning back now. Let the battle begin.

A shift in the breeze gave the only warning before a ball of energy slammed into Broly. Bulla hit belly first into the dirt to dodge some of the aftershock. A blur shimmered out of the corner of her eye. Instant Transmission. Uncle Goku. His hair already glowed the yellow of Super Saiyan, whipping in the frenzy of blows that had Broly on the defensive. A second blur shot in, catching Broly in the kidneys. She'd barely registered her father's entrance when she was scooped up from behind, carried away on the sharp wind of his speed. Instinct had her arms around her brother's neck. "So they're following us once we get to your ship? A mid-launch Instant Transmission?"

"I wish it were that easy." He looked her in the eye. "You really think we can let him go?" A sickening settled in her stomach at the answer, and she couldn't help but look back towards the plateau. If plateau could still be used. That invoked visions of smooth surfaces. The land was already riddled with pockmarks. And her family. She could see flesh through her father's legging, flesh and blood, on his knees in one of the craters. Broly knew she was gone and that frightening ball of rage was turning to head their way when something cut him off, a golden glow of a … she sat up a bit straighter. The power wave registered inside even as her eyes beheld it. Full on now, his hair a mammoth wave of golden spikes flowing down his back. "What the--"

"That, li'l sis, is a Super Saiyan 3."

Holy smokes. Still didn't match Broly, but it certainly closed the gap. "How long can he keep that up?"

"Not long fighting Broly. We need to make tracks." He kicked in the afterburners. "Hey, what's that on your head? Don't tell me you found a mall on this dust ball."

She'd forgotten about that. "It's a 'gift' from Broly. I figure it's to keep me put, but I don't know how it wor-ahh." Pain lanced through her head.

"What's wrong?"

"My head." The ache sharpened the farther they went. "Trunks, wait. Oh God."

Trunks stopped, hovering about the valley below. "Wait a minute. The stone's glowing … damn. I think we know now how this thing works. Can you hang on till we get to the ship?"

The sound of his voice merely acted as hammers pounding on needles already burrowing into her brain. A whimper was the only answer she could give. She felt Trunks pulling on the headband, squeezing it, but that only made it hurt worse.

"_Back."_

_"What. Bulla, you have to help me."_

_"Take me back."_

"I can't do that. Nothing else matters but getting you home."

_"He won't let me go."_

He kissed the top of her head. "Shh. Let's just get back to the ship." He didn't get far before the scream tore through her throat. "Bulla? Bulla!" The sound was distant, and then there was movement. The pain receded bit by bit, the darkness cleared from the edges of her vision. The anger boiled. Not hers. _"Trunks?" _No answer, but the anger was his. And the power. She held him tighter as though her arms could contain it. Soothe it. She knew they'd turned back, could hear the sounds of war growing louder, the fluctuating levels coming closer. And the change. It snaked along her skin just as her body was laid down on the ground, pulled away with its master.

She rolled over, forcing her eyes open. She lay in a shallow crater. Pulling herself along the ground, she reached the lip of it. Her brother launched himself into Broly, taking both him and Uncle Goku by surprise. Drove the bigger man off the plateau in an ever-growing ball of light into the next mountainside. Repeated plumes of dust rose from the impact point, as though objects were further pummeled into the wound. Something flew off, another in pursuit, flashes, collisions she could barely see. He was pleasantly surprised. Wait, that wasn't right. She closed her eyes as though it would help her focus.

_"Stronger ... not enough..."_

Was it Trunks? The pounding in her head ... not like this for a while. Couldn't think. She heard Uncle Goku shout for her father ... and some sort of chant. Felt them surge, move into the distance. Mountains groaned, stones crumbled, avalanches quaked the ground. _Dammit girl; get it together._ She forced her up to her knees, her feet, pushed the remaining headache to the background, refocusing on the fight. They were all engaged now. Glimpses of a punch, a kick, a shout before a ring of fire exploded into the air. She tapped into her family's wavelength; adrenaline drenched their emotions, giving off another unique high. She sharpened her gaze on the fight. She could see them now, not some typhonic blur. But what she saw and what she sensed confused her. Four warriors in a maelstrom. But, but only three figures. Broly. Trunks-- She saw it, but still didn't quite believe it. The same overgrown elongated mane of glowing yellow hair. Trunks at Super Saiyin 3. She focused more on the last fighter. Super Saiyan, looked like one, but the power was on a whole other scale. Similar to Trunks, but different. So different. So not one force. Dad... Uncle Goku...

_"Both. Neither. It's Fusion, Princess. Call me Gogeta. I'll explain later."_

He'd never stopped fighting in that brief reply. All that power channeled into blows and explosions. She was too stunned to do anything but play witness to the war.

And it still wasn't enough. Broly would knock one back just in time for the other to bum rush him, but none of the three ever got the upper hand. It was a skate-thin stalemate only because he couldn't get a lock on them enough for a knockout blow. Maybe she could help the odds. She looked for an opening. Maybe she could trap his hands. But she'd have to time it with his blows. _Or try slowing him down_. She shuddered, not liking what that might mean. Air and rock were one thing. Molecules of the living were another. Timing. She'd working on timing. Tracking, tracking…. She started gathering molecules in preparation--

And got knocked in the head with a two-by-four. Except as the black retreated from her vision there was no board to be found. That damn headband. It somehow blocked that power. But not the telepathy. Different wavelengths maybe. Whatever the case, the end result was that she was a lame duck in this game. Broly. Anger churned inside her, looking for a place to go. She zeroed in on him. If only she could make him feel it

He looked dead at her. Like she'd just hit him with a spitball. And then paid for the lapse by taking a wicked foot to the gut. But she was paying little attention to the fight after that, her attention solely on the other thing that happened.

_I just felt her anger._

He had felt it. And she'd heard him. Heard his shock. Inside her mind. Emotions were a part of it, yeah, but she'd been mad at him most of the time she'd been with him. This hadn't happened before. Never never ever—

The call drew her back to him. Not her name, but his summons nonetheless. He was simply letting them wail on him now, not caring at all, a knowing look focused on her. _"I told you, you would be the one."_

She slammed up mental walls, reinforced them a dozen times thick, squeezed herself off into the smallest space. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. Even through her defenses the heat of his building rage reached her well before she saw the tell-tale white-hot glow of his eyes. _He'll kill them._ Instinct had her take off as though she could stop him that way, as though she could reach them in time. Somewhere in the building halo surrounding him she saw them trying to fall back, then the light blinded her. And the sonic boom hit, a cannon blast consuming everything in its wake. She was airborne, tumbling through space, just another useless piece of matter in the way of rocks and dust that hit her. What breath was left in her impact knocked out. Vertical, a brief sense of bearing before ricochet pitched her forward into the yawning abyss below. Gravity quickly took command, and she had nothing in her to stop it.

Her heart pounded against her ribs in her descent, almost too big for her chest. Impact came sooner than expected, hard, but softer. Wait … she wasn't falling anymore. She was moving up, landing. She was being held, squeezed by a tree trunk of an arm against his massive chest. The heart pounded from both places, inside, outside. It wasn't her heart. It was his. Her mental defenses were gone. And the terror was his, coating every cell of her.

_No control ... she is imperative ... almost destroyed ... end this..._

Too stunned to think. Too much to understand. But in that place where even the ordinary mind grasps the universe, the pieces fell together and a realization took hold. He wanted to die.

* * *

_All characters herein are the property of Akira Toriyama and used without permission. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only._


	9. Chapter 9

The Wretched - Part II, Chapter 5  
NCDavis

* * *

He came to with an arm wedged between two plates of stone and one leg under a boulder. The only other thing he knew, besides hurting everywhere, is that more than a half hour must have passed. The fusion had clearly run out. Damn, Broly packed a wallop even with pure force. And he shrugged off two fused Super Saiyans and a—

Trunks. He tried to pry the top slab of stone off with his free arm. _My son._ The stone wasn't moving. "Trunks!"

"Hey, I heard something over hear!" Kakarrot. And then: "We're coming, Dad." His son. He smiled. Weight above him began to shift slowly, light shone further into the darkness. The stones on his arm and leg finally moved, and Trunks slid him from the rubble "Easy." He shoved a _senzu_ bean in his mouth. "You okay?"

He gazed up at the familiar lavender hair and blue eyes. He could barely believe what he'd seen, but there had been little time to marvel on it at the time. A twinge of envy, perhaps, but mostly pride. "I had a feeling you were on the verge of a new level. You did well."

"Yeah," he sat back on his haunches, "fat lot good it did us."

Kakarrot remained standing. "No, your father's right. You're a Super Saiyan 3. Be proud of that. If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't have had time to fuse. At least we stood toe-to-toe with him, and he's even stronger than before."

"Until that big surge." Trunks scowled. "It was like something majorly pissed him off, and I don't think it was us."

Vegeta nodded in agreement, changing the subject. "What happened to the initial plan?"

The anger rolled off his son. "You remember that headband Broly wore when we first faced him? The one his father used to control him? Well, it looks like he had it remade, and he put it on Bulla. When we tried to leave, it sent pain into her body. The farther we went, the worse the pain got. I had to bring her back. It was killing her."

He was as angry with himself as he was at Broly. "You did the right thing. I take it he still has her."

"He's back at the Yalarian ship," Kakarrot replied.

He'd seen the band on his head, was surprised by it actually. No way Broly had willing worn the one his father controlled. To reuse the same device... "We find out why he wants to keep Bulla so badly, we may find a way to beat him."

"That sounds great, Vegeta, but Broly never struck me as a complicated guy. We'll still have to defeat him. Motivations may have to wait."

"I'm open to other ideas. We didn't put a scratch on him."

Trunks had been quiet. Vegeta wondered if he'd still been licking his wounds, but the boy had that look on his face both his children had inherited from their mother, one he got when he was figuring out a kink in a design plan. Steady, unblinking, unwavering.

"Fusion."

That's all. That pronouncement like all the world's answers lay in it. Vegeta waited.

"The Metamorese method. Two beings of relatively equal power fuse. 'Relative' being the operative word. The beings can actually be of disparate power levels, but if they can modulate that power into a balance, the condition for balance is met." Kakarrot nodded. Trunks continued. "So if conditions don't have to be there from the beginning for one aspect, maybe it works that way for the other."

His mate also got that same glimmer in her eye when she thought she had a working theory. "Out with it, Son."

"Look, the blast caught us off guard, but we _were_ in a stalemate. I say we tip the scale." He stood up, motioning for him to the do the same. "Shall we dance?"

- - - - - - - - - -

The twin moons rode the night sky. Bulla had watched them in their course, willing them to give her answers. Dreams, she'd called them. And he'd stared at them so intently afterwards.

What man dreamed of death?

A man consumed by an unyielding anger, a fury with no cause other than a slip of genetics. A fury with no end. Grand mal rages, as she'd come to think of them, reminding her of the medical condition on which she'd based the name. Seized hostage by your own body and mind. Involuntarily and with uber-violence. In Broly's case, though, there was no treatment, and there sure as hell wasn't a cure.

Wretched. The similarity had not been lost on her; their paths eerily ghosted each other. Just like those moons.

She'd barely seen him in the past day or so. Food was left outside her door. Not so much because of any prisoner status, she thought, but because he was avoiding her. He could've killed her in the last rage. Heh, not like he hadn't tried before, but when she'd really thought about it, the last times she'd been in situations with a chance to defend herself. This time, she'd've been splat, and that had freaked him out to the point that he'd gone back on his word. The circlet remained. And the telepathic connection. She could always sense his power levels, but there was the deeper sense now, his presence ever-prowling, rubbing against the door of the metaphysical room she'd created for her private thoughts. She wouldn't let him in. The idea was too ... intimate. But it wasn't the impenetrable barrier she'd erected before, so though his presence constantly asked to enter, he seemed content to agree to the boundaries she'd set.

The other reason for the room was to keep him in the dark about other activities on the planet. He could sense her psychic power, she knew -- apparently the other unique link between them -- but he didn't seem to be able to read energy levels like they could. According to them, that was a learned skill, and Broly wasn't one who ever thought to gage an opponent's strength. He was the Big Bad Bully of the Block. She didn't want him gaining that ability now. Like he needed any help. The men were okay. Weird spikes in power crossed her radar every so often, weird like that "fusion" weird. Gogeta he'd called himself, though that wasn't a constant presence. Man, Gogeta had a lot of splanin' to do on the way back home. But one thing needed no explanation. They were planning their next strike. Which meant she needed to ditch the hardware. Supposedly it'd come off on its own if Broly died, but she didn't want to wait around for possibilities.

A sound outside the door caught her attention. "Broly," she called out, "stop hiding from me." Silence, but the door slid open and he entered, waiting for her to continue. No sense tiptoeing around. "You forgot something." She pointed at her forehead.

He didn't like the reminder. "The circlet needs to remain--"

"' I assure you I will be pleased to remove it once this is over'," she mocked. "That's what you said to me, Broly. You lied to me."

"No, I--"

"You LIED!" He didn't bat an eye, but the prowling that was he inside her mind slunk a bit from the door.

"Why does that shock you, Highness." It'd been a long time since he'd put any sneer into it. "You're a tool for my own ends. Nothing more. I will not give you up until I'm done with you."

He was bluffing. Not about needing her for a purpose, but about acting like he didn't concern himself with her beyond that. She wasn't nuts. "Affection" would be way off base. But she'd come to mean something ... precious to him, even if it was for such a morbid goal. But if he wanted to play this game... "I don't give a damn what I mean or don't mean to you, but cut the bull. You hate these things as much as I do.

"I know what you want, Broly." She barely whispered. "What you _really_ want from me. There's no way it'll happen with my powers bound this way."

He grew still. Not just quiet. Still. His body, his presence. "Are you finally prepared for such as task?"

As if. But he didn't need to know that right now. And maybe it was a good time to test out something else. "My family is dead. Uncle Goku. My brother. My father. Motivation won't be a problem."

Seemed like forever waiting for his response. "Their ship is fast, and now likely the better stocked one. We will find it and then we will proceed."

Yes! He couldn't read squat. "I can't do anything to you like this. I assure you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Swear it. You will not leave my side until this is done."

His need to be reassured almost gave off its own scent. "I swear." That, at least, was no bluff.

She heard the click of the mechanism coming undone. The circlet slipped off, falling to the floor. Neither one was in a hurry to pick it up. He left her with her meal, and she wasted no time digging in and reporting in.

_"Get him to fly back over the battle site," _her dad replied._ "We'll be ready."_

_Glad someone is._ She hadn't told him about the death wish. She wasn't sure why. If their new plan worked, then it'd be mute she guessed.

She spent the rest of the night lost in her thoughts. But, she'd discovered, not completely alone. Even with the circlet gone, he was still inside her head.

* * *

_All characters herein are the property of Akira Toriyama and used without permission. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only._


	10. Chapter 10

The Wretched - Part II, Chapter 6  
NCDavis

* * *

They flew in silence in the early morning air toward the battle site. The best plans were the simple ones. Broly thought her family dead. What self-respecting daughter, sister and honorary niece wouldn't give them a proper burial? He'd pointed out, rather delicately considering the source, that they may not be able to find the bodies. She assured him they'd die on this planet of old age before leaving them to rot.

They landed on the nearest still-standing hilltop. "Holy..." War had been too kind of word. The once green, peaceful mountaintops were mounds of scarred, charred barren rock. It's amazing they really weren't dead, and no wonder he'd been concerned about finding intact remains.

Real shock overcame acting, so much so that without being asked, Broly offered to start the search for her. Talk about shock. How he could be so ruthless and yet so considerate was the eighth wonder of the world. He flew towards the valley, the same one -- she could tell by the blast pattern -- she almost fell to her death in. Where her family could've died. Where Broly could... She shuddered. Too many twists of fate for her liking. She'd felt some mad, mad surges out there. Guts, instinct, intuition, whatever you wanted to call it told her this was it. Dad and the others had their ace. Broly would be at peace. _He'll be dead._ She shushed her thoughts. This was the only way. It was for the best.

Yeah.

_"You there, Dad?"_

_"Mm-hm. And we know where he is. Take cover."_

The next mountainside over sported what looked like a cave. She floated that way, careful to make it look like she was looking for her folks in case Broly decided to check on her. The cave could hold maybe five people, keep 'em from getting wet in a rainstorm, and was as good as a front row center seat at a tournament. _"'Kay. I'm clear."_

_"Stay that way."_ And then silence for what seemed like forever. And then the world shook as a yellow-hot explosion erupted from the valley. She ignored the dirt and pebbles rattled loose from her nook, the dust plume seeping her away, contaminating her breathing air.

A taiko drumbeat of power in every cell, every breath. She didn't bother to look. She didn't need to. The battle was on and there'd been no warning or warm up rounds. No need to feel out the opponent. Broly had his glorious war at last, and it sang itself through the atmosphere, every blow a resonance. There'd been a staccato of anger, briefly, towards her. But it shifted to, dare she say, delight?

The other waged with equal pleasure and ... no way. Their powers were equal too. Minor fluxes here and there, but as even as it could be.

Pause. A brief parting of contestants. No words were being said, she knew. Their battle was beyond such paltry things. A moment to measure, recalculate. The other drew her attention. She'd known deep down it was fusion, but it wasn't Gogeta. This one had way more watts than Gogeta. He was a couple of inches shy of Broly's height. Similar clothing. Blue boots, loose black pants, black vest trimmed in blue and orange rolls at the shoulder. Longer, fuller hair than Gogeta -- and black -- though nowhere close to the puff ball of a Super Saiyan 3.

_Gogenta._

It carried on the mind's wind a breath before the battle resumed in whirls of motion that made their last fight, or rather, Broly and Gogeta's fight, look like a turtle race. It was easier to feel their fight than to watch it. Each side of her tapped into a warrior's mind, feeling the aftershocks of each blow, the surge of each blast. A shockwave landed outside her shelter, stunning her into opening her eyes. Gogenta had been slammed into the mountainside near her. She blinked, 'cause she couldn't quite believe her eyes, or what it meant. That expanse of long, black hair was accented by a streak from the middle of his hairline, sweeping down his face. A pale lavender streak. She struggled to wrap her mind around it. _"Trunks?"_ He smirked. He was in there with them. She held his gaze the moment before he rejoined the battle. Heavy brow ridge, black-rimmed eyes bearing irises of blue-violet. Eyes glittering with the madness of the hunt. He was toying with his prey

As they raged on, there came a chink, slips in Broly's punch, a tiring. But he was reaching down. Did he sense a final end? If so, he was preparing to go in a supernova of glory. The other surged with him, the heat of their raw energy scorching even where she stood. But there was something wrong. It was better to say Gogenta was the supernova. Magnitudes of power, but there was slippage in its core.

The fusion was running out.

They were locked into a reverse tug-of-war, each letting out energy beams that were deadlocked where they met. She diffused Broly's beam, Gogenta's beam blowing him into the next mountain. But he regained his form and was charging back in. They could do this all day, but Gogenta didn't have that kind of time. Broly's consciousness bumped the door inside her mind, his way of saying he'd known what she did. She had to do a lot more and fast, but what?

_Energy is energy._

More than a thought. An unknown voice, no time to analyze whatever it was, but it gave her the craziest idea she'd had yet. _"Dad— Gogenta, get ready to hit him with every thing you've got left."_ She took a deep breath, quickly created another metaphysical room adjoining hers and Broly's space. Stepping into the new room, she visualized the door to Broly's place, sent up a prayer, and threw the door open wide.

"Kame--"

_Wait for it._

"Hame--"

_Wait for it._

"HAAAAAAAA!"

She could see Broly's conscious link, saw the path to his power through it. She balled up every strand of power of his she could get her hands on and yanked, a big psychic vacuum funneling everything she could into the new room. She leaped back into her haven, slamming both doors as she went. The fusion was failing on the kamehameha's trail, and Broly...

She couldn't feel him.

Correction. She couldn't feel his consciousness. His power, however, was a pressure cooker inside it's new home. She worked on reinforcing the walls as she made her way to the battlefield. One now lay as three. Her family was worn out, but alright. Broly lay half a world away on the rumbled flat of a freshly re-destroyed hill. She flew to him, his unconscious form battered and bloody. She hadn't meant to take so much, just enough to tip the scale. Once again the peace he found only in this way was not lost on her. So vulnerable. So unfair.

A footfall landed beside her. Her father. "Step aside, Princess," he aimed his palm at Broly, "we need to finish this."

He wanted to die, after all. It was for the best. For everyone.

She stood up, planted her feet square in front of her father. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I can't let you kill him."

Stunned didn't quite describe her father's face, but he quickly regained his composure. "Look, I don't know what captor/captive fantasy you've developed here, but I'll let the shrinks on Earth deal with it. You. Move. Now." He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder like a 50-yarder from Peyton Manning. She put on the brakes in time to dispel the beam shooting from his hand. She had just enough time to erect a force field around Broly before he launched his next shot. It glanced off the barrier, nearly giving him a buzz cut before he ducked out of the way.

The stray firepower had Trunks and Uncle Goku over in a heartbeat. Neither one was sure what was going on. She quickly filled them in.

"You're frickin' nuts," Trunks chimed in. "After what he did to you? He isn't some stray cat you can take in and make better. He won't stop maiming and destroying until he's forced to stop."

"I don't disagree with you. I just think there may be another way to stop him. I'm not naive. He has a mean streak. Not uncommon for a Saiyan from what I've heard. But it's the power that drives him insane. What if we give him a chance to almost literally start over? Minimal power at best, certainly nothing even normally Super Saiyan. Train him to control the rages--"

"It can't be done," Her father answered. "He destroys everything in his path. You've seen what it's taken to stop him. This is our only chance to end this."

"Can I ask you something, Daddy?" She hated what she was about to do, but by the looks on their faces, the other two were in total agreement with him. Desperate times... "How many races have you destroyed? How many beings out there wouldn't hesitate to kill you where you stand?"

Trunks hissed. She kept her eyes on her father. "Bulla," he finally answered, the weight of the galaxy in his reply, "I made conscious choices, wrong as they were. He's a rabid dog. No control, no ability to make a choice. There's no saving him."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I won't accept that, not without trying. I'm Wretched. If things had been different at my birth, I would've been hunted, destroyed or thrown away. Your father tried to throw him away once. I won't let the house of Vegeta abandon him a second time. You help me, or I do it alone."

"You'll do it--" He rubbed his temples. "By the gods, you're your mother's daughter."

"And my father's."

He finally lost it. "If you were thinking like _my_ daughter, we'd be leaving his carcass to whatever carrion birds this backwater planet has!" He ran his hands down his face. "Let's go with your insanity for a moment. Just how do you propose to 'train' him? I don't see him demurely going along with your grand makeover."

She ignored the rolling power within her. This was _not_ a good time for the truth. "The headbands," she blurted as it came to her. "I can use the master to control his power levels."

He whispered, "And if he refuses?"

She looked away. "Then so be it."

Dead silence. And then, "What say you, Kakarrot?"

She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Uncle Goku and Trunks glanced at each other. "It's your call, Vegeta."

He snorted. "Sure. The first time in your life you've ever deferred to me.

"I guess some lessons your child has to learn the hard way. Look at me, Bulla. We'll try it your way, assuming you're prepared to live with the consequences. _All_of them. People could die. Or worse."

She hesitated. Worse? But she couldn't let Broly have his wish, not without a fight. She nodded.

"Fine, then the first consequence is _you_ get to explain this mess to your mother."

* * *

_All characters, and fusion concepts, herein are the property of Akira Toriyama and used without permission. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only._

_Author Note: Though a Google search on the name "Gogenta" found it in a Dragon Ball Z-based fan RPG, a forum screen name and, mostly, as a misspelling/misuse of "Gogeta," the character as he exists in this story and his description are my own design, though I still bear no legal rights to the character._


	11. Chapter 11

The Wretched - Part II, Chapter 7  
NCDavis

* * *

"It's my fault," Bulma shook her head over the sink of dishes she was washing up. "You see your father and me and think having the hots for a warmongering maniac is a good thing." 

"Mo-om." Bulla had dish-drying duty. She didn't know which was worse, her mother not speaking to them at all, or her wailing laments. Mom had given them the silent treatment for weeks. Literally. She'd been furious with her dad for not killing Broly and that had spilled over to the rest of them. Now, every time they saw each other, she went into one of her woe-is-me speeches. "Mom, you do realize you're beginning to sound like Aunt Chi Chi."

"No way."

"Yes way."

She stood there, suds slipping off her hands back into the water. "Damn it! That's your fault to."

"Mom--"

"Don't 'Mom' me. I've heard the sob story. Bulla," she turned to face her, "this isn't the same as with your father--"

"That's what he said."

"You should've listened."

"I did. I listened to myself. I'm not in love. I'm not delusional." Her mother snorted. "But I know what's really going on inside him. He isn't evil. It's the power. If he can learn to control power now that he isn't the 'Legendary Super Saiyan' he won't so out of control, and then he could try to put some kind of life together for himself"

Mom sighed. "The sad thing is I can't say your theory is completely nuts. The thing that worries me, all of us, is this is a ticking time bomb. We don't know why his power level dropped so much," she glanced at Bulla's forehead, "or how long those bands are going to work."

She squelched major guilt. "Broly's training hard. I think he really wants to try." She fought to keep the nerves out of her voice. "In fact, I should go check on them." She started for the back door.

"What you should do, young lady, is your homework. You have big make up exams coming up. You fail those and it's summer school for you."

Maybe Broly could wait. She headed upstairs instead to crack the books. Over the next couple of hours she read, typed notes … and thought about him. She slammed her books shut. She thought mostly of him. She tried to screw up her indignation. It was his fault she'd missed so much school anyway. He should take the tests. Nah, no good. Truth was, school and a whole lot more would mean squat if he couldn't control his power once he got it back. She rubbed her forehead. She'd grown used to the dull ache. Her mental trap was like a dam. It held and cut off the flow of power, but when it gave way, the power would rush back to its natural course. It wanted to get back, hated the tiny confines of her psyche.

She really needed to see how he was doing.

- - - - - - - - -

He and Trunks stood on a naturally-formed ledge overlooking Raman Lake, a scattering of what looked like Go stones lay between them. From the look on his face, Broly couldn't figure out how, as though they weren't supposed to be there. And from the bruises and abrasions covering him, the stones weren't the only things he hadn't mastered the past few weeks.

She moved closer. Trunks was explaining the problem to him. "To keep the stones rotating requires concentration, a little finesse, and above all, discipline. You can't just go full force. Let's try again."

She absently tousled Trunks' hair. He swatted her hand. "Hey, I have a date with Sammy in an hour."

"It's not like you weren't gonna clean up first ... right?" He ducked his head. "Ewww! I can tell you've been training before your little teaching game here. You. Go shower. Now!"

He sniffed his arm. "I didn't think I was that bad. We're going to the beach. Not a resta--"

"Don't ca-are." She pointed. "March."

"No thanks. I'd rather fly." He gave her a worried look quickly covered by a good tossling in return and a quick peck on the cheek. He took off.

She refocused on Broly. It was still kind of a shock to see him with dark hair. Normal. His hand was clinched so tight, but when she moved towards him, he relaxed. The silence sat charged, uneasy. Without and within. "They aren't taking it easy on you, huh?"

"It is a ... unique experience."

She sat down beside him, motioning for him to join her. "An informative one, I hope."

He didn't respond at first, brow furrowed in thought. "You are close to your brother."

"Um, yeah."

"And your father."

"They did go after me to rescue me."

"No. They would have done that because you are theirs. But there is a bond. They ... care for you. And you for them." He closed his eyes. She barely heard him speak. "What a fascinating idea."

That was a good sign, right? "So, how is it--"

"You realize your efforts will fail."

"Now that's not a constructive attitude to have. This is your chance--"

He shook his head. "This only proves I was right all along." He looked her in the eyes. "I am not sure if I should thank you or curse you for this... There are no words for it. But it will end, and you will have to kill me."

"Then why bother agreeing to try."

He paused. "A moment of weakness I shall not repeat."

Her throat burned. "Broly--"

"You promised."

"But--"

"You swore you would not leave me."

She turned her head, fighting the sting in her eyes. He didn't let up, leaning into her ear. "You already feel the power slipping away from you. I know; I feel it pulling towards me. Our time is running out.

"Come. Your family has been preparing me. It's time I do the same for you." He helped her up and led her back into the sparse woods surrounding the lake. She was glad to be behind him, that he couldn't see her wiping the tears that escaped her efforts to hold them back. Even though she knew he knew anyway.

He pulled up short. Shoulders squared, ears cocked. "Stay here." He took off into the trees, a blur, and then gone. She was about give into the urge to call after him when he just as suddenly reemerged, something in his hands. A squirrel, very small. Very still.

"What did you do."

He shrugged. "These rodents run wild across your lands. Numerous."

"That. is not. the point. It wasn't doing anything to you."

"No, but it will serve my purpose." He laid it on the ground at her feet.

"Broly!"

"Your lungs are indeed strong, Highness." He had the nerve to smirk. "Let us see if your resolve can match." She kept glaring at him. He sighed. "In truth, I thought it would be easier with the creature already dead."

Easier?

"What you did to the portal on the ship. What you have done to my energy blasts. You must do to this body."

She just stared at him. He'd gone nuts. Okay, so arguably he was nuts all along, but he couldn't possibly be suggesting--

_It can be done._

_Shut up. Whatever you are._ Great. Now she was going nuts. 'Cause the last thing she wanted or needed was that voice telling her to go there. Hell, she didn't want to hear _any_ voice she couldn't associate with a known person.

The horror must have shown. "Get used to the idea. It will be the only way to stop me."

He left her then, the wind and fear blowing a chill across her. The squirrel's fur rustled in its wake. No way.

_Assuming you're prepared to deal with the consequences..._

That voice she remembered. Maybe she was deluding herself. What if she... Okay, start with the fur. That wouldn't be so bad. It was almost too easy to see the structure, unravel it. When she refocused with her physical eyes, a bald spot lay in its back, remnant dust scattered through the remaining strands. Before she could think too much, she focused on skin, sinew. Lab, think of biology lab. Clinical. Detached.

_I thought it would be easier with the creature already dead._

The memory jogged her concentration. She saw her handiwork, hyper-decayed flesh in parts, congealed blood and muscle in others.

She threw up where she stood. Tried putting it back together, but that failed.

She backed away from the thing she'd wrought until her back hit a tree, sliding down, letting the digging bark give some penance for her act. She couldn't leave it like that. She broke branches with her mind, piled them around the poor thing. And lit it ablaze in pyre.

Broly's presence brushed her door, as though some of her anguish seeped through to his side, but she ignored it, unable to deal with him. She couldn't have been wrong. There was too much to lose.

_There is another way_.

She ignored it too, the sense again, the voice within that had no origin. The same one that, at first, always seemed to pull her fat out of the fire. Instinct, she'd thought. Trustworthy. But staring at what was burning before her, she wasn't so sure anymore.

- - - - - - - - -

She dreamed of fire, blazes that melted everything in it path, glorying in the destruction. Destruction, annihilation meant freedom. Release. She woke so dizzy she thought she'd be sick, her head like a jackhammer on steroids. Her bedroom door banged open, someone had her around her waist. Male. He called her name, what sounded like her name, but there was no effort to answer. What part of her that could focus was all inside, dealing with the meltdown inside her head.

His power leaked all over, spilling into recesses of her psyche. Barely was one patch made when another spot split open. No warning, no slow building. It had all just erupted, heading towards its master.

_"Bulla!_"

His presence was palatable in her head. _"Bit busy, Dad."_

_"What in the name of the gods." _Anger mingled with his astonishment. "_The bands were a lie--"_

_"Dad—"_

_"Inside you. His power has been _inside_ you all this time! Do you know how dangerous--"_

She plugged another crack in the dam. _"You can rant at me later. If I can't hold this, it all flows back to Broly."_ She almost thought he was gone he was so quiet. Then he did leave, both her mind and body. She continued fighting, but the tide was winning and in the bottom of her soul she knew it was just a matter of time. Broly's consciousness stirred beside her, then flared in struggle before disappearing. _What_? And that one moment was all it took, responded as though it knew its master needed it. She was lost.

When she regained her bearing, the power was gone, a familiar beacon calling her outside, far out into the country. With every passing mile, her heart sank a little more. Her open senses told the tale. Broly was beaming power as much as ever before, and he was in battle. She didn't know when Uncle Goku had come, but by the time she arrived the two megapowers – one fused, one on his own -- were at full-scale war.

Time was up.

_If you're to do this--_

_"The heart is quickest."_

Broly. Once upon a time this would've been so easy. She never thought she'd miss the amoral strum of the Wretched's awakening. But she couldn't depend on that now. And even if she could, it was far too dangerous. She took a breath, focusing on his ribs. A crack, but then all she could see was the squirrel, and she almost got sick all over again. She started diffusing his power blasts, racking her brain for any other alternative, but coming up empty. Gogenta had the upper hand. If she could keep going ... but the familiar fluctuation flitted across her senses. The fusion was running out again.

Broly slammed a massive ball into Gogenta, and in a blink, was before her, her arm painfully in his grasp, his face snarling, desperate fury all for her. "You promised."

She fell to her knees. "I can't do it. I can't. I'm sorry."

He placed his hand underneath the fall of her tears. "Are these for me, Highness? Or for those who will die because of your failure."

"I tried--"

Yes." He wiped a tear from her cheek. "I felt it, but not enough. You promised me." She felt the rage building. "You betrayed me." The gathering energy made her raise her face. He was aiming towards her family, exhausted from the fusion. _Not again_.

"What shall it be, Highness. Will you fulfill your oath and stop me, or will you let them die." His beam was growing brighter, hotter. She couldn't dispense it. They'd be here for eternity playing that game.

_There is another way._

That voice again. She didn't have time for it either.

Louder._ Time for nothing else._ And it thumped. Hard. Insistent. She'd been so wrong; she couldn't afford to be wrong again.

_Not wrong._

And nothing else to lose.

It beckoned; she followed. _A little thought niggled deep down. A pounding on a long forgotten door. She reached it. There, behind it, she felt something so warm and strong. Oh, she remembered. The power she'd stuffed so far down the day the Wretched came full blown. But it was dangerous. Too much. She stared to pull back, but it banged louder. Clawed at the door to make its way out. Somewhere towards the surface the first wave of Broly's power was unleashed. She had no other choice._

_It flooded her, overwhelmed her. She fought, but it soothed her fear, so she let it. This time, she could embrace it. And it showed her the way. How ridiculously simple it was._

_She surfaced with the power, opened the door between her haven and Broly's presence and flowed right in. Outside, she'd disrupted the one blast he'd shot off. As for the rest ... his power fired erupting infernos within him, beautiful, horrifying. Sweet divine, how had he kept from drowning in full madness all this time? The initial waves hit her ... wild, unfettered, almost painful in the need to discharge them. It knew her now, knew she was coming for it and it would not go so easily as before. His power fought her; he fought her, deep-rooted fear tingeing the struggle. She shushed its worry. It would not be as with the bands. Not suppression, numbness. He still pushed back, but he was no match for her now. She set to her task, weaving, joining, tendrils connecting, diffusing his waves almost as quickly as they came, neutralized them within her own energy._

She opened her eyes, receded to herself. Her own full power, not locked away anymore, but banked like a comforting fire. A soft glow surrounded her for an instant then faded away. He was staring at her as dumbfounded as she'd ever seen him. "You can try powering down now."

She held her breath – he seemed to as well – but slowly, surely, he did as she asked. His golden hair dimmed to dark brown. He powered up again, to heights as blinding as a small sun, and little electric hums skittered through her psyche in tune, dispersing the overload. Over and over he powered up, even down, a wondrous child with a new, amazing toy. He started at his hands, then at her, as thought answers to the universe were within them. "I—I don't understand."

"It's simple. I kept my promise."

- - - - - - - - - -

Bulla pulled a few more shirts out of her closest, revealing her pink Frada jacket. She'd never gotten to wear it. She pulled it down. Maybe Pan would want it. She stuffed the others in her bag, zipped it up, slung it over her shoulder. Took one last look at her childhood room. Closed the door.

Most of the gang waited by the ship. Trunks held her mom who'd been crying, she could tell, but she'd dried her tears for the big moment. She sent her daughter a smile, mouthed, "I love you." Bulla took a moment to create the mental door. _"I love you too." _Her dad was nowhere in sight. No surprise; he hated big emotional scenes. She'd said most of her goodbyes in private, but the send off was nice.

She ruffled Pan's hair. "Glad to see you're okay. There's something for you on my bed." The kid took off.

Uncle Goku scratched his head. "I'm still not sure I understand what happened."

"Think of Broly like a sink, his power like running faucet. You all know how to open the drain to keep the power from overflowing. Broly doesn't. Or rather, can't. Not on his own. I'm now his drain plug."

"So you're joined at the hip."

"More like the mind."

"And if something happens to you?"

She started to say something flip, but simply answered, "We're linked in more ways than one."

Uncle Goku wasn't happy about that. "You don't have to leave, you know. Maybe we can convince him to stay."

"He's a stubborn Saiyan." She smiled. "Besides, he's not the only one who needs to go. The world seems small now; there's a whole big universe out there to get lost in." To find yourself in.

He hugged her, understanding what went unsaid. "We're only a phone call away."

_"Or a thought."_ Trunks.

She boarded the ship, got her gear settled. Broly was seated on the floor. "You're letting me drive?"

"You seem to have a knack for taking control."

She stuck her tongue out at him and strapped in, suggested he should do the same in a passenger seat. "So where are we headed."

"I doubt the places I've been want to see me return."

"Point taken. Mom and Dad loaded a good catalog of known planets into the computer bank." She punched a few keys, pulled up images. "Hey, that planet's purple! Cool. Shall we head for the Big Plum Marble?" He looked at her like she was nuts. "It's an Earth joke. You'd have to live here."

She did her checks, then checked again. No sign. She took a deep breath, hitting the rockets for launch.

_"I refuse to say goodbye, Princess."_

She closed her eyes. At last. "_Never._" His warmth swelled inside her. His pride. She returned it and the hum in her heart took her from the planet into the stars.

She opened her eyes as the moon sunk beneath them.

"Still see dreams, Highness?"

Her gaze shifted to him. "Yeah, I do."

-

END

* * *

_All characters herein are the property of Akira Toriyama and used without permission. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only._


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